


A Beast's Virtue

by Arliene



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Character Death, Dark Magic, Leadership, M/M, Minor Character Death, Obsession, Older Man/Younger Man, Politics, Possessive Behavior, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Powerful Harry, Smart Harry, Suspense, Underage Kissing, Unhealthy Relationships, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-28
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-02-22 23:58:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 33
Words: 180,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2526410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arliene/pseuds/Arliene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Schooled at Durmstrang, forced into political upheaval, pursued by dark and light wizards alike, Harry Potter becomes a leader and icon for his entire generation, thus turning the Dark Lord's attention to him - A tale of intrigue, bloodshed and manipulation coupled with an unhealthy fascination with the enemy. HP/LV. Politician Harry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A New World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: The following story is based on situations and characters from the Harry Potter books which are created and owned by J. K. Rowling, and various other publishers, including, but not limited to Warner Bros., Inc., Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, and Raincoat Books. No use other than entertainment is intended and no financial gain is being made. No trademark or copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> Note: This is a HP/LV fic. The slash part won't happen until much later, though. The story will primarily focus on adventure/suspense and what it means to be a lord and leader of a group. There will be no mpreg or creature inheritance stuff, no godlike powers, countless pets etc. As for the timeline issue. Everything up until Harry's introduction to the wizarding world happened in this fic as well, meaning prophecies, Horcruxes, Grindeldore and all that jazz.
> 
> HP/LV dynamic: For those of you who are interested, I'm gonna explore HP/LV as equals. Harry will definitely grow up to be unique in his own right, magically capable to stand his ground, although there will be major differences between him and Voldemort in terms of ideals, morals and what they envision for the future of the wizarding world. Harry will like both the dark and the light side, so no old-fashioned Dark Lordish tendencies for him. Still, there will be people pressuring him constantly.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it :) Btw, And it's not gonna be a short story. Just a warning.
> 
> I apologize for my poor grammar/spelling mistakes. No beta means trouble for me.

Heavy footsteps echoed off the pavement as a young boy ran across the street in the middle of the night. With nothing but his cousin's old clothes on his body, Harry Potter pelted across Magnolia Road, determined to put as much distance as possible between himself and his family.

He was a bit concerned that someone could have witnessed his abrupt departure. But those problems could be sorted out later. Though, it was somewhat strange for a 10 years old boy to be alone at such an hour, he couldn't allow himself to think about that.

Gasping for air, Harry continued to run, a pain in his side making it difficult to keep going. But he had to. Harry glanced up briefly and wondered whether that old, doddering woman Mrs. Figg would follow him or not.

It used to be a strange hobby of hers. Watching him.

She had always kept an eye on him for some reason or another and it bothered him to this day that he hadn't figured out why. Harry couldn't dwell on the past, though, as he resolutely made his way towards freedom.

He eventually slowed down a bit when he reached the station.

Finally.

The bespectacled boy made sure that no one was following him, before making his way over to the platform. Not many people would be out at this time, and really, the only people waiting to catch the next train were a bunch of rowdy teenagers. Harry glanced warily at the spot where he could see them laughing and shoving each other playfully.

'Must be drunk,' Harry thought, taking in the group of 5 or so people. He glanced around and noticed that no one else was there.

He tried not to think about the fact that he'd have no one to take care of him from now on. It didn't really help that he had absolutely no idea what to do with himself; and while he was certain that the Dursleys wouldn't report him to the authorities, it was too risky trying to contact any child services for that matter.

'I didn't really think this through, did I?' Harry carded his fingers nervously through black, messy hair, absently noticing that one of the girls from the group was slowly making her way over to him. The others either didn't notice or didn't seem to care much.

He really wasn't in the mood for a chat with strangers, but apparently the girl wasn't deterred at all, stumbling towards him.

"And what is a little boy like you doing here all by himself?" She grinned and Harry took in her appearance. Her make-up didn't really help covering red-rimmed eyes and dry lips. Her hair was lanky and as she got closer, Harry could smell what he guessed was Whiskey on her. His uncle Vernon used to smell like that whenever he'd been in a particularly bad mood. It was just as disgusting.

He didn't dignify her observation with a comment, instead turning away from her and checking his pockets, making sure that he'd had some money on him. The only foresight Harry has had for this disaster trip was to steal Dudley's lunch money earlier that day.

"Planning to escape, are you, Potter?" the girl asked again, surprising Harry.

"How do you know me?" He glanced at her, taking in the way she was biting her lips. She chuckled in response.

"I recognized you immediately. You're the boy little Dudley Dursley likes to torment at school. Always bragging about beating up the criminal from St Brutus," she trailed off. Harry rolled his eyes, tired of hearing about his aunt's cover story and all the crap that came with it. She used to tell the neighbors that he had gotten the necessary re-education, always coming up with an excuse not to let Harry out of the house too much, in case his "weirdness" and freak behavior would be displayed for all to see. Only during the summer breaks was he allowed to spend more time outside, mostly occupying himself with gardening.

It had been another step to isolate him, which is why he'd never made any friends in school.

Harry didn't like to admit it, much less to himself, but he felt lonely.

"You don't even look like you could harm a fly, though. It's quite obvious that your entire family is full of shit," the teenager exclaimed, eagerly observing Harry's reaction.

"Look, I'm tired. So why don't you go back to your friends?" The boy glared, trying to cut her off.

"They can live without me," she paused. " But you on the other hand need my help." Satisfied with her logic, the drunken girl suddenly pulled out a wad of cash and without further ado, she reached for Harry and put it in his jacket pocket. "There, now you should be fine for at least a couple of days."

Harry couldn't quite stifle his reaction. "What the hell...?" He made a move to return the money, but the intoxicated girl grasped his wrist with surprising strength.

"Take it, Potter." She smiled enigmatically. "You need it more than I do, and I know exactly what it's like to run away from a family that doesn't give a shit."

"Hey, Amy. What are you doing?" someone shouted from the distance. Harry stared at her, not quite sure what to make of this bizarre statement. To be honest, he wasn't all that knowledgable about people and what they did in these situations. Any form of kindness was usually met with suspicion on his part simply because he didn't know better. And he didn't want to come across as someone's charity case.

In the end, he left it at that and simply nodded. The girl, Amy turned around and for a moment she looked surprisingly lucid.

"I have a feeling you'll do great," she explained. "Harry Potter, resident, criminal boy destined for greatness!" And with a cheerful goodbye and a last indecipherable look she returned back to her group of friends, leaving him confused and somewhat apprehensive.

Harry tried to shake off that weird feeling he sometimes got when something strange yet memorable happened.

* * *

The next train to Central London arrived, and Harry immediately went to look for a decent compartment. To his surprise, the drunk teenagers didn't board the train, choosing to simply leave the station after a while. He tried not to think about the girl too much.

He took a seat somewhere in the back, ignoring the old man who was sitting nearby, snoring softly. His thoughts turned self-deprecating and Harry grimaced, thinking that no matter what happened from now on, it surely couldn't get worse than his previous home life. He made himself comfortable and contemplated what to do.

He had two options now. He could simply try finding an appropriate night shelter or live on the streets. Neither was preferable, but calling the police or getting himself checked into a hospital was not a risk he'd like to take. With a quick glance at a Vernon's old watch Harry has stolen earlier this day, he calculated the time before arrival. Harry hoped the Dursleys would be asleep.

Harry leaned back, his gaunt reflection in the window revealing just how exhausted and anxious he was. Shifting a bit, he nervously tapped his finger against the armrest. Tired, jade green eyes took in his surroundings.

Nothing caught his attention and he allowed himself to relax for a minute.

His instincts however were telling him that something was wrong.

The old man he'd seen earlier was calmly reading a book. Odd.

Hadn't he been asleep just moments ago?

Harry narrowed his eyes, taking in the harsh features more closely. His ridiculous looking but neatly trimmed goatee was just one peculiarity. The old man was wearing a silver coat, or maybe a...robe. And was that fur on his collar? In the middle of summer...?

His blue eyes were unfocused, unseeingly fixed on the pages. Which meant that the man was just as aware of his surroundings as the young boy was.

Harry had always made it his business to stay alert in case there was danger. Life at the Dursleys had been somewhat like living on egg-shells, focusing on whatever moment of peace you could get.

Trying not to stare too much, Harry fiddled with a loose thread of his jacket to distract himself. Harry checked his watch again and almost groaned. Only 5 minutes have passed since leaving Little Whinging.

He was about to look outside the window, when suddenly he felt the air shifting and static-like energy enveloping him like a cloak. Before he had time to process this feeling or make sense of it, a hand grabbed his neck harshly, pulling him forward. Harry gasped, struggling to get free, but he was helpless.

The odd looking man was standing right in front of him and without warning another hand brushed his dark bangs away from his forehead.

Steel-blue eyes were fixed on the spot above his eyebrow and Harry knew that his old, lighting-shaped scar was what appeared so interesting to the stranger.

"What the..." Harry struggled again, but the man shushed him, pulling him even closer.

A mad grin revealed yellow teeth and Harry flinched, averting his gaze. It didn't really help much, because the man was suddenly chucking delightedly, his stale breath almost making the younger boy gag.

"Oh, today is my lucky day," the man whispered with a strong accent, turning Harry's face a bit to inspect the scar from another angle.

"I was minding my own business, enjoying my stay here when suddenly I find myself confronted with a handful of Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived." The weirdo was positively gleeful at this point.

"So many choices, so many opportunities." He let go of Harry's neck, rubbing his hands together. Harry reeled back in shock, looking around for help. But no one was there.

"Oh no, you can't escape this, boy. We'll go on a nice journey, you and I." Without further ado he made a grab for Harry's arm, roughly pulling him out of his position. With another move he grabbed a silver necklace that had been hidden under his robes. "I really didn't want to use this, but we can call it an emergency, I guess."

The batty, old man continued mumbling something, words like 'Portkeys' and 'ministry issues' coming up, but Harry saw his chance and made another effort to get away.

A loud crash from somewhere else temporarily distracted both of them and now Harry could make out more than one voice. "Help-" he cried out, but the hand was back, covering his mouth. He was roughly pulled back against a tall, thin body.

"Did you hear that?" a male voice cut through the silence. Another crash, and someone was screaming.

"Oh, for fucks sake,  _Obliviate,"_ another person yelled. "Dung, you totally screwed up, you know that, right?" the voice addressed someone else.

"Nevermind. Potter's definitely here. The trace worked perfectly."

Footsteps were approaching their compartment, but before they could reach them, the old man whispered something in his ear.

"Of course, the great savior of the wizarding world needs his entourage, but I'm afraid it's too late for that." The hand quickly grabbed his smaller one and with a single touch to the object hanging from the necklace both people were transported away from their location. To Harry it felt like a pull somewhere behind his navel, but he didn't have much time to focus.

He had now officially been kidnapped. That was a first, even for him.

A group of people dressed in similar robes as the old man stumbled into the compartment, a moment too late.

* * *

The first thing Harry experienced was a sharp pain shooting through his back after landing ungracefully on a cold, muddy surface. The next thing he felt was panic.

His companion aka kidnapper didn't appear ruffled at all, merely shooting the young boy a disdainful look for a moment.

He tried to understand what just happened. It wasn't an everyday occurrence to be transported from one place to another, although Harry did remember that one time he suddenly appeared on his school's roof. Another event in a long list of strange ones.

Getting rid of the nausea and dizziness that had almost made him want to throw up on the man's shiny, black boots took enormous effort. Harry got up with some difficulties, though.

His head was pounding and he felt his heartbeat accelerate, thinking that whatever happened would end in murder. The old man decided to break the silence.

"You were followed."

Harry couldn't make sense of that statement, but played along. "If you're referring to your friends making a ruckus back there, you're probably right." He paused, catching his breath. "I don't know these guys and I don't know you, so what's to say you weren't following me as well?" Green eyes narrowed in suspicion, looking for signs that there was some conspiracy at work, something that would make more sense.

He got a smirk in response.

"Contrary to popular belief, I don't go looking around for the wizarding world's hero and those people following you are certainly not my...friends" the man sneered, making a move to leave.

"Wizarding world..." Harry mumbled, trying to calm down and forcing himself to think about this more rationally. He couldn't identify their current location, but it was definitely much colder. Going by the scent, he could detect that there was a river or possibly a lake nearby. The air was humid and they appeared to be in the middle of a forest. If that man planned to do something, there would be no one around to witness it.

The old man halted, throwing him another look and taking in Harry's clothes and general unkept appearance. Something in his expression told the boy that another mystery has been solved.

And then the man started to laugh.

"This is absolutely priceless," he broke out between gasps. "Too good to be true. Oh, if the public finds out about this."

"You don't make any sense, so if you want to kill me or whatever just do it!" Harry interrupted forcefully, balling his fists and preparing himself. He was tired of being in the dark about everything.

"Kill you? Why would I do that?" The man suddenly grabbed his upper arm with surprising force and dragged him along.

"I don't know, alright. Let me go." Harry's struggles were in vain. He stumbled across the pathway, stones and branches digging painfully into his sneakers.

"We will talk after crossing the wards, boy. We aren't safe yet and you never know who might overhear certain things," the older man explained.

"Will you at least bother to tell me your name?" Harry forced out, not wanting to lose what dignity he had left. This situation was ridiculous as is.

"Certainly," he got in response. The man grinned sharply, shooting him another look.

"Igor Karkaroff. To you it's headmaster or sir."

* * *

And with that they continued on their way, leaving the darkness of the forest. After a short walk which was spent in silence, they must have reached their destination. Harry looked up, about to demand another explanation when he caught sight of the building in front of him. His eyes widened in surprise.

It wasn't a building but a medieval castle with narrow windows and an archway. A huge court yard covered the whole area and there was also what looked to be a pitch nearby. Harry wasn't an expert on architecture, but he remembered reading a specific book about medieval buildings back when he'd managed to get away from his family. Which was a rare opportunity.

This castle looked similar to Rococo-themed castles around Europe, with the most notable difference being its dark structure. It was only four stories tall, however, looking similar to the Catherine Palace in Russia. Harry'd never imagined seeing a castle up close. Hell, he'd never gotten the opportunity to travel at all.

And by now he realized that they might not even be in Britain anymore. Which made the whole teleportation business all the more baffling.

As he reluctantly followed the headmaster, he felt an odd sensation encompassing him, like crossing a waterfall. This must be the barriers Karkaroff had mentioned earlier.

And slowly but surely it was settling in that whatever was happening here was just another case of "freakishness". The kind of stuff that Harry had been accused of all his life. It somehow made it easier for him to deal with, considering the fact that he had personal experience. The forbidden word magic came to mind and with that his thoughts turned to all the different signs indicating that there was something beyond the ordinary life of people like his family. The fact that the man had been dressed in robes, or that another bunch of "wizards" had followed him for a while, shouting out obscure words like "Obliviate"...

It was too much to take in, but also easier to accept. There was an explanation for his sudden appearance in the middle of nowhere, just like there was one for getting his hair to grow rapidly after one night, or depositing himself on a roof. Things like releasing a snake on his cousin at the zoo. Or healing himself.

Harry glanced at the man who was now waving his hand absently, opening the main entrance with a bang. That confirmed Harry's suspicions, seeing for the first time how "magic" worked with intent.

They quickly entered the castle and it was now that he fully understood the gravity of the situation. Less than 24 hours ago he'd been worried where he would sleep and how much money the girl had given him and now his life was truly about to change. He didn't know whether to feel excitement or dread.

Karkaroff let go off him and quickly approached the staircases. Harry had no other choice but to follow, seeing as how the doors behind him had closed. He doubted he could make a successful escape.

No one else was there. Harry glanced around and noticed movement within the portraits hanging on the wall. People dressed in similar fashion were inspecting him, some of them sneering in disgust and murmuring what sounded like "Mudblood" and some Scandinavian words to him. Harry quickly looked down. He knew that even for a normal person, he looked completely out of place with his poor excuse of an outfit. His clothes were Dudley's and nothing he owned had ever truly belonged to him.

"Do hurry up, Potter," the wizard intoned, and Harry sped up his steps. They reached a poorly lit corridor and the headmaster approached the end of it, briskly opening the oak door with magic. Harry glanced around warily before entering an office.

The strange instruments littering the place immediately showed that no non-magical person worked here. Bookcases filled with ancient tomes indicated that the old headmaster liked to read or at least wanted to project the image of a scholar.

For some reason Harry didn't think the man was all that smart, though.

The man pulled a bottle out of a huge glass cabinet and poured himself a drink, downing it in one go before taking a seat behind the wooden desk.

"Take a seat," he offered, watching the boy with expressionless eyes. Harry tried to ignore the penetrating stare, secretly pleased that there were no portraits in this office. He'd had enough with just one man sneering at him. He didn't need more.

The instrument closest to the bookcase gave off a strange sound, but the old man didn't even bat an eyelash. Harry wondered whether this thing was some kind of alarm system for intruders.

Hopefully, he'd get some useful answers now. Harry didn't fool himself into thinking he was perfectly safe simply because murder wasn't on the cards today. There were countless ways in which someone could manipulate an ignorant boy after all. Harry chose to stay on guard, hoping that whatever happened wouldn't damage him more than his old life had done.

* * *

"So what do we have here. A boy who ran away from whatever hole you came from, who's clueless about our community and his own heritage," the headmaster remarked, crossing his arms and leaning forward slightly, his expression now hungry.

Harry understood that this man was enjoying the attempts at humiliating him.

"I can put two and two together, you know. So let's skip the chitchat about magic and how pathetic I am for not knowing anything. Get to the point!" Harry shot back, irritated at the remark. He also felt like chastising himself for getting provoked so easily. The man's blue eyes were silently laughing at him.

"Bravo. So you want to keep this short. Very well." The headmaster stroked his goatee thoughtfully, thinking how to best explain this.

"Your helpless situation doesn't change the fact that your ignorance is affecting the lives of thousands of people and could possibly be...disastrous for all of us, but especially for me." Karkaroff hurried to explain.

"Great, and why should I care?" Harry gritted his teeth, frustration evident in his tone. "Why should you care?" the older wizard snarled in disbelief.

Harry averted his eyes, taking a moment to verbalize his thoughts.

"Well, I figured out that I'm kind of famous or at least well-known for people like you to go looking for me," said Harry. "But that doesn't change the fact that I don't give a damn about your life or whatever community you're part of."

"I wasn't following-," the man interrupted, but Harry continued, willing his hands to stop shaking. "That group of people, or wizards...they must have seen me leaving my relatives. Or someone bothered to tell them."

Harry's thoughts turned back to Mrs. Figg's suspicious behavior and he asked himself how long this has been going on.

"Ah, and that's the crux of the matter. Your family, boy. You've been raised by filthy Muggles and remained in the dark, because someone thought it would be brilliant to keep the great Harry Potter out of the limelight," Karkaroff elaborated, narrowing his eyes in contemplation.

Harry leaned forward as well. "You keep calling me great, or wizarding hero. And what was that? Boy-who-lived or some nonsense..."he trailed off.

"I won't bother explaining your own history to you or why your life affects all of us. You'll read about yourself in one of the books I'll give you as homework. But mark my words, Potter. You could have ended up back with your caretakers if those people had managed to get a hold of you. Apparently, your actions weren't very favorable in the eyes of light wizards, but I'd have done the same if I had found myself living with maggots." Karkaroff exclaimed, his anger suddenly making itself known to Harry.

"What are you taking about? Homework? Light wizards?" the boy demanded. But the headmaster only sighed in frustration, irritated beyond measure at having to explain these simple concepts.

"No one ever knew what happened to you and the wizarding world was led to believe that you grew up with full knowledge and awareness of what has happened. Your primary caretaker was a famous light wizard responsible for your wellbeing. The fool must have plans for you that made it vital for you to grow up without awareness of the wizarding community, choosing to let you loose on those Muggles."

Harry could infer that Muggles was probably a term for non-wizarding folks. But he had a caretaker? And the idea of a light wizarding community intrigued him. It suggested that there must be at least one counterpart and that this strange new world was not unified, if there were so many groups with different goals and views on magic. He tried to piece the puzzle together.

"You're not part of those light wizards or whatever they're called. And you don't seem to like non-magical people much..."

"Understatement, Potter," the man spat out. Harry ignored him, feeling increasingly comfortable with the idea that magic existed in the first place and that he was part of a greater scheme.

"And you kidnapped me, recognized me instantly," Harry thought out loud, keeping in mind that the man in front of him had been very interested in his scar back when he had approached him on the train. Karkaroff stared at him impassively.

"Which means you want to use me for your own personal gain if you're not part of them," Harry concluded, meeting his gaze head-on. The old geezer gave him a toothy grin in response.

"And you won't have a choice in the matter. So let's get to the main business, shall we?"

Harry stared, his silence speaking for itself.

"I'll make this short. First things first, you will be staying in this castle and reading up on your history." He continued airily. "We are currently located at Durmstrang Institute, which is a prestigious wizarding boarding school here in Norway. Naturally, I'm the headmaster," he drawled.

Harry rolled his eyes, unimpressed with this man. He'd had to deal with adults who believed in their own superiority all his life. Unfortunately, Karkaroff still had the upper hand in this game and his next statement confirmed the boy's worries.

"You will eventually enroll as a student." And that made Harry pause. The wizard instantly caught his reaction.

"Believe me, I've wondered what do to with you. And no, this wasn't planned at all but it will benefit the both of us," the man admitted to Harry's surprise.

Harry thought about going to this school and what this new development meant for him. He had no idea what it entailed.

Something else also bothered him and he decided to ask.

"Okay, if this wasn't planned. What were you doing boarding a train in London? Why were you spending time with the-," Harry tested the word out, "Muggles if you hate them so much?"

Karkaroff snorted, not bothered at all. "Business that doesn't concern you,". Harry was suspicious, the man's motives not becoming any clearer.

They took another moment to assess each other.

"My plans involve your cooperation, but I can easily force you to do whatever I want," he threatened with a smile. "A well-placed curse would do the trick. Or I could send you back to where you came from, destroying all your memories from this meeting and what you have witnessed so far. You would remain completely ignorant. Waiting for your caretaker to do the rest," Karkaroff elaborated easily.

Harry couldn't imagine what was worse. Lack of knowledge or lack of agency. Both seemed like the easiest way to turn him into whatever these communities desired. And if there was something Harry feared it was the utter helplessness that came over you when you were forced to rely on others at the cost of your own independence.

And he believed Karkaroff's threats simply because he didn't know better. Harry swore he would raid the entire library of this school, if there was one.

Harry was ready to acquiesce. Becoming a student of this school didn't seem like such a bad deal for now, he told himself, trying to calm his nerves. He accepted.

"So what now?" the younger wizard asked.

"Elf," the old man suddenly barked, almost making Harry jump. And without warning the strangest creature Harry had ever seen popped out of nowhere.

"Master Karkaroff, sir" the thing responded timidly in English, its voice squeaky. Huge eyes were watching Harry.

"Bring Mr. Potter to one of the boy's dormitories. He is a guest, but he is not to leave the premises. You will take care of his needs," Karkaroff ordered.

Blue eyes settled on him. "And as for you, boy. We will discuss your future in more detail once you have bothered to read up on your situation. " And with that the man dismissed him, not giving him another look. Instead he made his way over to the glass cabinet again.

Harry had no choice but to leave, thinking about the short but informative conversation.

* * *

The inside of Durmstrang seemed more spacious, corridors leading to unknown places and the lack of artificial light or any light for that matter almost making him run into a wall. The house-elf, as Harry had learned after being "teleported" out of the office, seemed undeterred, leading him to a lower part of the castle, where the dormitories for the first years were located.

Harry had so many questions and he considered interrogating the creature some more, but eventually they reached their destination, standing in front of another nondescript-looking oak door.

"Master has ordered Harry Potter to rest. If Harry Potter needs something, call for Mindy to help." And without another word the house-elf disappeared from sight, leaving Harry staring dumbly at the spot where the creature just vanished.

"Eh okay," he said to no one, coming to the conclusion that this certainly was one of the weirdest exchanges he ever had. Not counting the time his cousin had caught chicken pox and kept calling him Aunt Marge in his feverish state. Harry never thanked him enough for infecting him as well.

Harry opened the door and found himself in what appeared to be a bedroom for 2 people. As far as he could tell there was no common room where students could gather before going to classes, each corridor simply leading straight to their dormitories. Maybe there was something like an assembly hall for them. Harry decided to explore the castle tomorrow, hoping to make the best out of this whole kidnapping situation.

The room wasn't overtly decorated and Harry only spotted a single portrait showing a vast landscape. Two bookcases and desks for each student could be found, as well as the door leading to an adjacent bathroom. But the most interesting and certainly most luxurious aspect was the walk-in closet, where Harry could already see half of it filled with various robes, shirts and even shoes for every occasion.

On what appeared to be his bed he found pajamas and underwear already laid out for him, which was kind of embarrassing. He doubted many students here needed these necessities that were provided by the school. Did he need to pay the school back somehow?

The thought filled Harry with dread.

Harry sighed, carefully sitting down on his bed and marginally relieved that nothing out of the ordinary happened. His mood turned sour, thoughts turning to all the new revelations and problems he'd have to face now.

The worst part was that he would be completely dependent on someone else, both emotionally and financially. It was certainly better to have a roof over your head than getting into a potentially difficult situation back in London. But the man was still a threat, no matter how promising his knowledge and this strange new world seemed to be.

Harry suddenly remembered the girl, Amy who in a drunken stupor had declared he would be destined for greatness. He didn't think she imagined the situation he was in now. Harry smiled wryly. He felt the urge to laugh and with a newfound determination he quickly stood and gathered the new clothes, hoping that he'd get rid of the Dursley's grime once and for all.

He made his way over to the bathroom and ignored his reflection in the mirror. The sun would rise soon and he hadn't gotten an ounce of sleep since leaving his family. The thought of food was even less of an option.

In a couple of hours he'd hopefully get more answers. He didn't bother to check the rest of the bedroom after taking his shower.

Too many things were on his mind, but eventually he made his way back to the bed and fell into a restless slumber, dark blue sheets covering his tired and emaciated body.

* * *

"Harry Potter, sir."

Harry mumbled something unintelligible, using a pillow to hide his face.

"Harry Potter, you must wake up," that squeaky voice broke through Harry's sleep-deprived senses. He grumbled, slowly coming to awareness.

"Please, Master Karkaroff requested your presence." And with that statement everything came rushing back. Harry turned his head and nearly fell out of his bed.

That annoying creature, Mindy something, was right in front of him, staring at the boy like he was the most disturbing sight in the world, big eyes an inch away from Harry's face.

"Don't  _ever_  do that again!" Harry exclaimed, leaning back immediately. Legs got entangled in his sheet, but the house-elf was patiently waiting for him to find his bearings.

Harry -with some effort- managed to get out of bed and immediately hurried to find some clothes to wear, leaving his meager possessions, some cash and the stolen watch behind.

He grabbed the first thing he could find, which wasn't saying much considering he had no idea how proper wizarding outfits must look like and he rushed with a bundle of black robes, dark pants and a white shirt to the bathroom, keenly aware that the house-elf was still staring at him bemusedly.

Harry sighed, turning on the shower and wondering how much he's slept. He didn't have any dreams, which was a plus, but his muscles ached and he didn't feel ready to confront the older wizard again. He had the insane urge to laugh.

He didn't take long in the shower, mindful of the fact that he had a grumpy headmaster waiting for him. In the end, he decided to at least make himself look somewhat presentable, although he had no idea how to dry his hair properly since there were no items resembling anything close to a hairdryer.

'This is my life now." He sighed, frustrated that his wet hair wasn't lying flat even in this state.

"Youngsters these days, always so dramatic," an eerie voice shot back, amused.

Startled, he turned around only to see his own reflection in the mirror smirking back at him. Harry stared.

"Okay, this is definitely not normal," he mumbled, carefully backing away from whatever that thing was. House-elves were one thing, but talking mirrors reached a new level of weird.

Harry dressed quickly, but Mindy had another idea and with a pop she appeared in the bathroom only to snap her fingers and work her magic on the boy, doing the rest.

And Harry had no time to prepare himself for another uncomfortable sensation of space/teleporting, whatever it was.

He was left standing in front of the headmaster's office and the house-elf left again.

'Great,' he thought, nervously carding his fingers through already messy, elf-styled hair.

"Enter," Karkaroff's unmistakable dark voice cut through the silence and Harry quickly did as requested, meeting the steely gaze of his kidnapper again.

He also noticed that it was probably already late in the morning, which meant he'd slept longer than necessary.

"You didn't bother to show up in the Great Hall and it looks like you haven't eaten at all, boy," the man started off, putting what looked like a newspaper aside for a moment to regard the small boy more closely. His sneer told Harry everything.

"Actually, you look half-starved, which makes me question the environment you were living in, Potter. But we can't expect too much from Muggles, can we?" he voiced. Harry remained silent, not willing to rise to the bait.

Karkaroff waved his hand as if dismissing the subject, and leaned forward slightly. "Nevermind. Starting from today I expect you to take care of yourself properly, understood?"

"Yes, sir." Harry said tonelessly, already tired of the man's attitude.

"I have absolutely no time to take care of your needs, but I want to you to be present in the Great Hall. And after that, you will be spending the rest of your day in the library, Potter."

"Of course, sir."

The man nodded, satisfied and without another word he let him go. Harry turned and left the office quickly, his anger making itself visible the moment he was alone.

This was something Harry had feared after finding out about this deal. Getting ordered around bothered him, because it simply reminded him too much of the similarities between this world and the so called Muggle world. Harry didn't expect many things to change after yesterday's events, but the least he could ask for was an ounce of respect. He went in the direction where the 'Great Hall' supposedly was, using the opportunity to carefully orientate himself.

He reminded himself that as a boy soon to be turning 11, respect didn't really mean much. Harry contemplated the idea that maybe his fame in this world would be useful to make a pathway, but he felt slightly nauseated to use such methods.

He couldn't really imagine strutting around as if he owned the magical world simply because he was already famous for something he couldn't remember. Harry also told himself that respect was earned not on the basis of something he had done without awareness. Which means he'd have to do it the hard way, dealing with bothersome people like the headmaster.

Angry footsteps reached the main hall which wasn't far away from the main entrance. He closely inspected the Great Hall and was surprised to see it decorated with stone gargoyles, more pillars and high windows with stained glass making room for natural sunlight. Three long tables took up the majority of the space and at the front there was a single table positioned on a dais, which was probably for the professors.

He made his way over to the table which already had an assortment of dishes waiting for him. Absently he scratched the spot, where his scar on his forehead marred soft skin.

"Let's make the best of it," Harry shrugged, carefully inspecting food he'd never seen before. It'd be a long day.

* * *

The library was probably one of the most fascinating places Harry had ever seen. He hadn't really seen that much in his life yet. Rows upon rows were filled with tomes on subjects Harry thought were straight out of a fairy tale. Potions, Runes, Herbology. Though, he completely ignored the spot where Karkaroff had placed stacks of books for him to read after picking out the few useful ones. He'd choose his own reading material, thank you very much.

The smell of old parchment permeated the air and Harry enjoyed the moment of peace he could find here.

"Mindy," he called after a while.

And the obedient house-elf appeared immediately, waiting for Harry's instructions. He felt a bit bad about using these creatures without a care, but apparently that was another one of those odd things about the wizarding world he'd eventually have to accept.

"Could you please find me some books with references to the most famous people in the wizarding world. If my name is included, that'd also be helpful." Harry smiled and Mindy snapped gnarled fingers once again. At the nearest table another stack of books appeared out of nowhere and Harry sighed tiredly.

He's already picked  _Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century_ from the first pile, but Mindy had also provided him with titles such as  _Modern Magical History,_ _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ and _A History of Magic_ by one Bathilda Bagshot.

Harry dismissed the house-elf and went to work. It would take a lot of patience to cross-reference all these books and try to understand the gist of it and he didn't really know what Karkaroff expected from him anyway.

He opened the Dark Arts one, mindful of the potential bias from the person who wrote it. It sounded interesting, though.

* * *

Harry scribbled furiously on a piece of parchment Mindy has given him. It took some time getting used to write using a quill and Harry looked dismayed at the countless ink stains. He frowned, but continued summarizing certain paragraphs while skipping over useless pieces of information he didn't need at the moment. His thoughts were a jumbled mess, turning from killing curses to Dark Lords and back again to the First Wizarding War. He'd quickly sought out information on all the previous wars this world had suffered from.

It was quite a lot.

Apparently, this entire conflict between the so called Dark side and the Light one was nothing new and many wizards and witches had envisioned a world for their respective kind, rising above the masses and instigating bloodshed and fights that went on for years. Harry had been amused to see just how truthful the "Muggles" had been about Merlin and several other prominent figures. Harry also came to the conclusion that he was simply just part of a long line of pre-determined conflicts with an added bonus.

His "defeat" of the Dark Lord Voldemort was a mysterious case of magical interference and that's why he was so famous to begin with.

Harry had examined all the possible theories that witches and wizards had proposed, with one prominent at the forefront of his mind.

Thoughts on his mother's sacrifice turned to a fantasy of a life he could've had if not for Voldemort's obsession. It made him furious, but with that feeling also came a sense of melancholic understanding. He had stared for a long time at the moving picture in the book depicting the Potters.

There were endless "what ifs", but Harry had long since lost the ability to believe that good things would happen to him simply because he wanted it that way. There wasn't much time for fun and naive hopes when a madman was after him.

And the possibility was there.

Speculations arose upon discovery that Voldemort somehow found the secret to immortality.

And Harry immediately agreed with the theory that the man was alive, considering that no corpse has been found at Godric's Hollow after the Killing Curse had rebounded. You didn't just explode or disappear after that.

'This is all so stupid," Harry murmured, tirelessly continuing to read.

After hours of work, the house-elf reminded him to be present for dinner, so Harry quickly made his way to the Great Hall and continued to ignore Karkaroff's speculative gaze while eating. He had been careful not to make himself sick. It would take time to get used to this kind of luxury.

Harry also thought it odd that no one else aside from the Headmaster had been present. Where were all the professors at this school?

Undisturbed, he eventually made his way back to the library and took some books with him to the dormitory.

On his way he passed a Ghost, which gave him another shock. The somewhat unattractive woman with a long and pallid face introduced herself as Eileen Prince, smiling enthusiastically and wishing Harry a good night, before disappearing through another wall.

He doubted he would have nice dreams now. Next time people would probably tell him rainbow-farting unicorns were real.

He shuddered.

Harry continued reading  _An Appraisal of Magical Education in Europe_ , wanting to know more about Durmstrang and what this kind of education truly meant for him. In the end, his tired eyes forced him to take his much needed break.

With thoughts centered on Voldemort and Durmstrang's own Lord Grindelwald Harry fell asleep.

* * *

It took him several weeks to get a full grasp on the situation in the wizarding world and many discussions with the Headmaster that made Harry's frustrations rise with each meeting.

School term would start soon and Harry had gotten the necessary equipment sponsored by the Headmaster, excluding a wand he still needed to buy. He'd also managed to change his Muggle cash into wizarding currency with Mindy's help. Surprisingly, Harry was happy with the idea to cut his ties with his past, now fully aware that he'd have eventually gotten his Hogwarts letter anyway. His life was bound to change no matter what, but this time Harry had the tools at his disposal to control his own fate.

It also meant spending endless days in the library, finding out just how much of a tool Harry was supposed to be.

He wasn't all that fond of the idea that Karkaroff wanted to turn him into a proper and powerful wizard simply as means of survival. Harry had squeezed out the entire, nasty history of the headmaster, including his betrayal of the Dark Lord and his status as a wanted man amongst the dark wizarding community, especially the Dark Lord's Inner Circle. It had been funny listening to the man's deluded hopes that he was destined to fight and defeat Voldemort, but it also limited Harry's own movements. Where Karkaroff got his ideas from, no one knew.

He vowed to get independent from the man's influences and hoped others would give him the opportunity to do so. Karkaroff wasn't really well-liked at this school, as Eileen had told him. No surprise there.

Harry absentmindedly rubbed his scar while reading another tome on Light Magic, which was a rare subject discussed at Durmstrang. Sometimes he wondered how he'd get along with the people attending this school, what with his status as slayer of the Dark Lord.

No teachers have arrived yet, but tomorrow he would meet the first people who would be part of his life for the next seven years of education.

Harry was anxious. He didn't really want a repeat of his bullying years. On top of that, people in positions of power could be troublesome as well, if not more so.

Coincidentally, Hogwarts term would also start September, 1. And word has gotten around by now.

During breakfast, Karkaroff had wordlessly handed him the "Daily Prophet", an English wizarding paper.

The headlines highlighted panic all over Britain, and Dumbledore was currently looking for the Boy-Who-Lived-Gone-Missing, leaving the Ministry in chaos.

Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Will he be able to find me here?" he asked carefully, his hand reaching for the teapot. Until now the esteemed Headmaster of Hogwarts must have kept silent about the situation.

"They've lost your trail on the train and I have erased both of our magical signatures before portkeying away. They won't find you, unless someone from inside the school gives your location away," replied Karkaroff gruffly.

If anything, that made Harry even more anxious.

"And how are you planning on keeping my presence here a secret from...I don't know, maybe 500 people?" Harry shot back, disbelieving.

Karkaroff simply smirked. "I have my ways as headmaster of this school."

The younger boy averted his eyes, by now used to the man's antics and non-answers. Karkaroff snorted, staring him down.

"Listen to me, Potter. I can easily deposit you at the gates of Hogwarts with a gift bag for Dumbledore. It's your choice to play light wizarding hero under his thumb, but with you on his side the war is as good as lost," he declared dispassionately. "I might as well sign my death warrant."

"And again, why should I care?"

The older man shrugged. "You don't, which is good. I'd be teaching a fool if you started to get sentimental on me." He paused, taking a breath and his eyes were suddenly hard, imploring. Harry met his gaze, curious to see where this was going.

"You have the choice to learn all that is necessary from inside out. You'll be able to defend yourself with in-depth knowledge of the power the Dark Lord wields. Knowledge of the people who belong to families and close associates of his Inner Circle. And it's nothing Dumbledore can offer you, no matter how much of an equal he is to the Dark Lord." The last part sounded as if it cost the older wizard to admit as such.

"This is something that you can't escape from, Potter. You won't be able to disappear if the entire wizarding world is putting their hopes on your shoulders!" the man exclaimed.

Harry thought it over and regarded the man for a moment.

"You don't have much confidence in the Light side to begin with. But I've read the statistics and they vastly outnumber your kind. On the battlefield, they could easily crush the Dark Lord's forces," he stated carefully.

"With a measly  _Stupefy_ and _Expelliarmus_ , you mean." Another sneer marred the man's face. "If the Light side defeats his army with your help, they'll simply be incarcerated until they plead innocent. I know them. I did the same, after all. It would only take a few years, before another uprising crushes the wizarding world simply because Dumbledore's people are  _too ethical_  to kill. And you'd be on the hit list." The man crossed his arms, a tiredness briefly showing in his eyes.

He glared at Harry. "Tell me boy, would you be able to kill, torture, maim?"

Harry felt sick. "You're asking an eleven years old boy if I'm a murderer?" he voiced.

"It doesn't matter what you want anyway. You'll have to do it one way or another, either on my side or on the Light side. Minimum one murder unless you want to get yourself killed by the Dark Lord, of course."

It looked like Karkaroff was taunting him now.

Harry only realized now just how much of an impact his decisions could make and he felt fear, the gravity of the situation hitting him hard. Just weeks ago he worried about finding another home and now he'd have to kill or be killed.

Harry lost his appetite and stood, ready to leave.

"You can't leave this school now, as you know. So take your time to think about it carefully. And be prepared for tomorrow. We're leaving early before the others arrive." The man turned away from him and left the Great Hall before Harry could. Harry noticed the jerky and abrupt way Karkaroff was clutching his forearm.

The black-haired wizard stood unmoving. Nausea plagued him and he felt the urge to run away.

Karkaroff was right in a way.

Harry was now part of the wizarding world and that meant he was also part of all its problems. Observing and choosing his side carefully was detrimental to his naked survival.

And there was also another thought that struck him. He didn't think he was a Dark wizard or a Light one. Hell, he didn't even have his own wand yet, which he would be getting tomorrow according to the man's earlier promises. And maybe he simply wasn't powerful enough to deal with an immortal man hell-bent on killing him. How could he do it anyway? And why was Karkaroff so sure that Harry could do it? There was probably more to the story than he thought.

It was also quite obvious that despite the elder wizard's determination to destroy his kind for the sake of his own wellbeing, the man longed for the Dark. Whatever Harry would do was bound to be closely observed by a man who had his own ideas and principles already. And Harry who had so much to learn could either choose to do it the bloody way and with full awareness of the brutality he would witness.

Or he could take refuge under Dumbledore's protection and hope for the best.

 _Hope_. Right. What a laughable concept.

Harry left the Great Hall, light steps carrying him to the library. He swiped his cold hands across his forehead, trying to calm down.

The ghostly eyes of one Eileen Prince followed his movements closely, lips twitching in delight.

Miles away in a forest somewhere in Albania, two pieces of one soul found each other again, carefully watching how their cowardly servant finished working on a very specific ritual. Nearby, a young boy not much older than Harry was struggling to get free from the binds.


	2. Of Diaries and Wands

It's been a while since Harry had felt that amount of pain. Usually it was more external and easy to handle when he knew what to expect. Dudley's kicks and punches were predictable. So was his uncle's brutal grip on his arms.

But this time the source was purely magical, unexpected and the main reason why Harry hadn't gotten even a wink of sleep. His scar had simply hurt too much. And wasn't that just perfect?

His famous mark from Voldemort has never hurt or given him any trouble at all. He's mostly forgotten he even had it.

Harry splashed some water on his face and grimaced at the sight he made. Even his talkative mirror image had nothing to say this time. Bloody brilliant.

Today he'd make his first trip to the wizarding world. And he'd finally get his wand, which was a something he should celebrate.

But he wasn't up to it and he really didn't feel like he could handle Karkaroff's sneering demeanor today.

Harry dressed quickly, throwing a black robe over his nondescript attire. Not only would he have to be mentally prepared for this trip, but he would also meet his classmates this evening.

School term was starting today and the thought alone made him ill. The rest of the staff was already here.

Harry left his dormitory and quickly made his way over to the Great Hall. He could already hear the distinct sounds of people talking and from what he made out it was quite heated. Harry steeled himself for what was to come.

With determined steps and confidence he didn't feel Harry entered the hall.

At once the noise stopped.

'Just great', Harry thought wryly, calmly walking forward and gazing at the High table where he could see twelve or so people watching him in return. And they certainly fit right into Durmstrang with their calculating looks, their black robes and overall intimidating appearances.

"Good morning," Harry greeted, bowing slightly, with hands held behind his back. He then sat at his regular table and tried to ignore everything. He wasn't quite sure what one did in such a situation. He was the only student present after all and he really didn't feel like talking more than necessary.

"Good morning, Potter. I see you are punctual," Karkaroff exclaimed. "Introductions are in order, but unfortunately we don't have much time. Make it quick," he ordered.

Harry frowned, taking another piece of toast for good measure. The old man could give him five minutes at the very least. With another glance, Harry noticed how seemingly unamused the rest of the staff were with the headmaster, obviously not happy with the rude dismissal. None of the teachers approached him, but they didn't talk to Karkaroff either.

Harry also noticed a somewhat handsome looking middle-aged man with brown hair watching him intensely. The man sat on the left, next to the headmaster and he wasn't shy about his observation or the fact that Harry subtly returned the favor for a moment. 'Odd,' was Harry's first thought.

Harry didn't really get to enjoy breakfast, the constant staring annoying him. He barely refrained from rolling his eyes when Karkaroff left the High table and instructed the handsome teacher to take care of everything in his absence. 'Must be the deputy headmaster or something,' Harry concluded.

He left with Karkaroff in silence.

As soon as they were outside, the old wizard drew his wand and quickly pointed it right at Harry's face.

'Shit,' Harry thought, his green eyes widening when an unknown spell washed over him, immediately taking effect.

"What-," he said, startled.

"A wizard of your standing must always be prepared, but you can calm down, boy. This is for your own safety," Karkaroff explained and Harry could already feel the differences. The man cast a glamour on him, which would hide his appearance.

The headmaster did the same and his harsh features turned into an unassuming specimen with prominent cheekbones and slanted, grey eyes, completing the look. Harry really didn't want to know how he looked like now.

It was decidedly colder than the last time when Harry first came to Durmstrang. The early September air seeped right into his bones. The last few weeks Harry had explored the castle as much as possible. He particularly enjoyed the Quidditch pitch, but was always mindful of the wards that effectively trapped him in place.

His summer so far has been the most eventful experience he ever had, but Harry was sure that whatever came next would throw him deeper into the unknown.

Karkaroff reached out and took his hand. Harry didn't even bother preparing himself for the uncomfortable feeling that came with Apparition. It was like being forced through a very tight rubber tube and Harry would probably never get used to it.

* * *

"Welcome to Berlin," Karkaroff muttered, letting go of him when Harry barely managed to stay on his feet. 'Bastard.' Harry glared.

They were currently right in the middle of the wizarding shopping district and it was packed with witches and wizards and so many other creatures. An ugly, toothless hag was already trying to sell her trinkets, begging Harry to take a closer look.

"Stay close to me and don't talk."

Harry obeyed, but couldn't help but stare, taking in the bizarre environment. This world was so entirely different from everything he ever imagined. Even the buildings looked like something not commonly found in this world. People were wearing the oddest assortment of clothes and you could see owls and other pets, and flying objects.

" _Gregorovitch's Zauberstäbe_  is one of the most popular wandmaker businesses in Europe," Karkaroff informed Harry, casually pointing at a rundown building right to the left. They crossed the street and Harry wondered if that popularity stemmed from something else. So far nothing about this shop seemed impressive. Even the candy store next to it looked more inviting with all its explosive items and colors.

The younger wizard was smart enough not to voice his observation. They entered, but before they could even make two more steps, an older witch with bright red hair approached them immediately.

"We're closed," the assistant said in English with a prominent accent, and motioned for them to leave again.

"Excuse me?" Karkaroff stared at her in disbelief.

"You heard me. We're closed. Please leave."

Harry sighed and turned away, hoping that this wouldn't escalate. But the older wizard glared and demanded an explanation. To Harry's surprise, she actually gave him one.

"Master Gregorovitch is out of the country. He's currently doing business elsewhere."

"And where would that be?" Igor groused out. Her expression told Harry how unimpressed she was with the man's attitude, which was a common occurrence with people who dealt with Karkaroff. Harry gave a tight lipped smile and she shot him an undecipherable look.

"Confidential information. You can come back next week if you want." She crossed her arms.

Harry didn't have to wait long for Karkaroff to lose it, now familiar with the man's mood swings and general lack of rational behavior. With a flick of his wand, the spell previously hiding Harry's features was gone and the reaction was instantaneous.

"Harry Potter," she whispered in awe, her gaze fixed on the prominent scar.

"I thought my current location was supposed to be a secret," Harry murmured angrily, raising his eyebrows when he got nothing but a small smile in return from the man. The headmaster's glamoured eyes assessed the witch shrewdly.

"I have a tricky customer who's in need of a wand and it can't wait," Karkaroff stated.

She shot Harry another look and her entire expression became friendly and welcoming. "I can't sell wands without my Master's permission, but-" the witch trailed off. She immediately grabbed something from behind the counter and scribbled a note on a piece of parchment. She also took a small figurine out of a nearby shelf. Without hesitation she gave the man what Harry assumed was the wandmaker's location and smiled at Harry.

"Everyone's been looking for you, Mr. Potter," stated the assistant. Harry didn't react at all, suddenly wanting to get out of here.

"Indeed, they have. But they won't find anything," the headmaster said impassively. And with another move that Harry could only secretly admire, Karkaroff reacted.

" _Obliviat_ e."

A spell Harry recognized from before and one that erased memories as far as he knew.

Karkaroff casually put Harry's glamour back in place and they left the shop after the old man made sure the witch's memories were sufficiently altered.

"Using my fame to get what you want," said Harry dryly, making sure that he wasn't walking behind the headmaster like a lost puppy.

"In time you'll learn to do the same." Karkaroff smirked. He inspected the figurine more closely and groaned inaudibly after reading the note.

"This is unexpected and we'll have to be even more careful from now on," he murmured and incinerated the parchment with a flick of his wand.

"Why?" Harry asked.

He didn't manage to take a closer look, but they'd obviously have to travel again, this time with a dreaded portkey. He didn't get an answer. Karkaroff activated the device and they left in whirlwind of colors, leaving wizarding Berlin not long after having arrived. Harry swore he'd take the time to explore the community more closely in the future.

* * *

"Oh hell, what is this place?" Harry groused out, wobbling slightly after that excruciating journey. Seriously, were all wizarding methods of traveling so crappy?

He looked around, uncomfortable with the sudden climate change. The heat bothered him and he wished he possessed the skills to transfigure his clothes. Karkaroff looked unconcerned, quickly casting a cooling charm on himself, before pushing through the crowd. Harry had no choice but to tag along.

"This is the capital of Morocco," Karkaroff explained offhandedly, pushing past another tourist. Some people were watching the older wizard curiously, glancing at his attire more closely. So much for keeping a low profile.

"Morocco? We're in Morocco?" Harry exclaimed. He'd never even seen the ocean and now he was on another continent?

"Obviously, Potter. But do hurry up. We don't have all day."

Harry had no time to admire the eclectic Morocco architecture with its vast cultural influences, as they quickly approached an all white house with narrow windows. Guards were keeping a close watch on the people who entered the building. Was it a museum?

Both wizards were granted access without further inspection and Harry's initial thoughts turned out to be correct. Inside, people were already bustling around, taking pictures of the presented artifacts and talking in hushed whispers.

The older wizard made his way over to a small statue at the far end of the hall and Harry glanced curiously at the glass case with its golden embroidery that protected the object inside. No one was paying attention to Karkaroff when he reached out, his hand passing through the case as if liquified upon contact. Harry stepped closer and without warning both of them were sucked right into the case. Another obscure traveling method, Harry found out later, when he landed in a dusty old room somewhere else.

He rightened himself, warily observing his new surroundings. Voices could be heard from the adjacent room and Karkaroff beckoned him to come closer.

"Mykew?" the headmaster called out. At once footsteps were approaching them and suddenly Harry knew that he was meeting the esteemed wandmaker when the man stepped inside. A big bushy beard obscured half of his face and the portly wizard zeroed in on the headmaster. Recognition shone in his brown eyes and Harry had no idea how that was possible, considering Karkaroff's glamoured appearance.

"Igor?"

The headmaster nodded vigorously and without hesitation the two of them hugged and rapidly began speaking to each other in...Russian?

Harry might as well not have been in the room with the attention both of them were paying to him. 'Great. First he's scolding me for taking too much time and now he's wasting it catching up with his friend,' he thought snidely.

So he turned away from them and took a closer look at the various objects littering this place.

A single stick was lying on a faded red cushion on the wooden table along with various different objects like stones, vials and...was that hair? The room was tiny, but Harry concluded that these must indeed be wands if the hundreds of narrow boxes piling right up to the ceiling were any indication. Gregorovitch must have either opened up another shop here in Morocco or the man was visiting another wandmaker.

The latter was proven right when someone tapped him on his shoulder.

"Welcome, Harry Potter," an elderly woman greeted him kindly, ignoring the two other wizards who were still engaged in a heated conversation. She had a hooked nose and beady brown eyes. Her powdered red cheeks were even more prominent up close. Grey, frizzled hair was framing a round face. She was as tall as Harry, which wasn't saying much.

"Eh, hello. How did you-" Harry started, turning to face her fully.

"Oh, Igor always prided himself on his skills, but charms, and especially glamours were never his speciality," she offered, winking at the boy. It wasn't much of an explanation, but Harry didn't push further.

"I'm Carolina Yassine of the Yassine wandmaking business since...forever," she introduced herself, smiling brightly.

They regarded each other for a moment before Harry broke the silence.

"Pleased to meet you, Ms. Yassine" Harry said, a bit hesitant on the pronunciation. He was annoyed that everyone presumed to know him so well and was acting so familiar around him. He continued nonetheless.

"I'm here for a wand and Headmaster Karkaroff wanted me to buy one from Mr. Gregorovitch."

"Indeed," concluded the witch, nodding in affirmation. "But I have a feeling you'll find your match in my humble establishment today," she said. Harry didn't really know how to proceed, but he was saved from replying when Gregorovitch greeted him enthusiastically, abandoning his conversation with Igor in favor of the Boy-Who-Lived.

"Mr. Potter, it is a pleasure to meet you." Mykew shook hands with him and told him everything about the news circulating in Germany, Harry's disappearance and the outrageous conclusions the British have come to. Harry discreetly tried to wipe his hand, only listening to half of Gregorovitch's babbling.

"Obviously they vould not be delighted to see you in my company. Dreadful and prejudiced, those people."

"Mykew, the boy needs a wand," Carolina interrupted and Harry was glad to see his monologue coming to an end. Karkaroff had been suspiciously silent until now.

"Of course, of course." The wandmaker nodded, stepping aside.

"Hold on, we requested a wand from Mykew's shop," Igor interfered, dismissing Ms. Yassine entirely. Mykew gave him a sceptical look, his cheerful behavior cracking slightly. Harry narrowed his eyes at the man.

"And that makes no difference, my friend. I also believe Mr. Potter vould be more suited to acquire a vand from Carolina's set." That seemed to shut up the headmaster, although he didn't really seem happy about the outcome. Harry had noticed earlier in the Great Hall how few witches were employed at Durmstrang. And Karkaroff didn't seem to hold much respect for Ms. Yassine if his look was an indication. If anything, this told him that the elderly wizard didn't really respect a witch's achievement in general. Or maybe he was just a misogynistic asshole. Harry could certainly believe it.

"Now, shall we proceed?" the wandmaker clapped his hands in delight and Harry went through the proceedings. He was surprised to find out that it mattered whether he was right-handed or not, and Harry wondered what it would be like to be ambidextrous and in possession of two wands. According to Carolina, few wizards ever wielded more than one wand and in some countries it was even illegal to have two. She'd shot him an approving look at his inquiry, though.

Two hours later and Harry had seemingly tried waving every single wand in the shop. Karkaroff looked frustrated and was checking the time every 30 minutes or so. They'd have to be back at Durmstrang soon for the Welcoming Feast.

'Should have done that trip earlier," Harry thought, not bothered with the man's impatience.

Things exploded randomly, boxes were set on fire and in many cases nothing happened at all. But both wandmakers looked even more excited than before. Harry had no idea why.

He even feared he'd not get a wand at all.

"I wonder...," Mykew began mumbled something under his breath. Carolina seemed to catch on and pointed at a box that was warded heavily. The man disabled them with a wave of his hand and took the black box carefully from the shelf.

"Try this one, my boy," Ms. Yassine whispered, her eyes shining in delight.

Harry felt the static energy at once and wondered whether the others would be able to feel it as well.

Opening the box, he knew that this one was his as soon as he touched the handle. A feeling of rightness and belonging coursed through him, momentarily making him gasp. It was like greeting an old friend.

"Splendid, Mr. Potter. Simply wonderful," the witch exclaimed loudly, clapping when bright red sparks were shooting out of it. Mykew smirked in dark satisfaction, but no one noticed.

Karkaroff offered a tight-lipped smile and asked for the properties. However, Caroline dismissed him entirely.

"One moment before you go," she said, making her way over to the shelf and retrieving an old leather-bound book.

"Please take this and read it carefully," She looked into Harry's eyes deeply and suddenly a voice echoed inside his head, as if from far away. "Your wand is made of Rowan, with"- the voice hesitated. "flesh of a Dementor for the core. 12 inches long, very solid. It's especially good for healing and offensive magic. I'm not surprised it chose you, Mr. Potter."

Harry wanted to say something but she broke the eye contact and he knew that he'd have to keep this information a secret for now. He'd read about Dementors, some of the foulest creatures to walk the earth. He also mulled over the properties. How was a Dementor in combination with Rowan supposed to be good for healing? And offensive magic? What type?

It also bothered him how wizards were apparently able to break into someone's head so easily.

Harry didn't show he acknowledged her, but he took the book nonetheless and met Karkaroff's speculative look.

"Very well, we shall be on our way. It was good to see you again, Mykew." The headmaster said something else in Russian and motioned for Harry to get moving.

"I also trust that our presence here shall remain a secret," the old man asked. Gregorovitch chuckled and shook Harry's hand again. The younger boy grimaced internally.

"Don't worry, my friend. Every customer has a right to privacy and we respect that right. No one will know about it." Mykew smiled innocently, the look somehow strange on his aged features.

Harry could already see the countless loopholes in that statement, but Igor didn't seem alarmed. The man simply took out the necklace he once had used to kidnap the boy and Harry shuffled over, saying his goodbye. "Do visit again," she said before they could disappear. Harry gave a small smile in acceptance.

Both wandmakers were watching him carefully and Carolina even gave him a thumbs up as if Harry had achieved something monumental. He held the book closely and hoped Karkaroff wouldn't insist on reading it.

However, now Harry had a wand that fit him and if the magic emanating from it was an indication, he'd have more opportunities at his disposal, more chances to learn and to defend himself if necessary.

It was time to leave Morocco.

* * *

"Welcome back, Harry," Eileen greeted him, casually floating through the wall and right into his room. The ghost was her usual cheerful self.

"Hello, Eileen." Harry straightened his blood-red robes, the official Durmstrang attire, which was also proudly displaying the double-headed eagle, Durmstrang's coat of arms. He struggled with tying his black sash, never having worn such luxury in his life.

Harry had grown somewhat fond of her ghostly presence over the last couple of weeks.

"I don't suppose you know what to do with my hair?" he asked, looking dismayed at the state of pure, black chaos on his head. He didn't care much for appearances, but the students were about to arrive and this would be his first introduction to his classmates, people he'd have to deal with for the next seven years. He really didn't fancy making a fool of himself and thus making matters more difficult than necessary. From what he read about this school, it was all about appearances, control and pureblood propaganda. Him being the slayer of the Dark Lord wouldn't exactly help.

"Not really," she said, looking him over. She paused, before continuing.

"You know, I had a son who behaved very much like you and never knew what to do about his looks either." Eileen smiled fondly, reminiscing.

"That's great, but I don't think the headmaster will appreciate if I look like a slob."

"And you care so much about what he thinks?" she scoffed, a hand passing through Harry's hair casually. He didn't feel her touch, but the sensation was unpleasant.

"True." he murmured, conceding. The mirror image whistled after Harry was done with the sash. He really didn't look half-bad and it seemed the Eileen agreed.

"The rebellious style suits you just fine, Harry. You're really not one for all that proper pureblood conduct. Leave your hair as is." One last touch and she retreated.

"Besides, you remind me of a student I met. He was all about proper behavior and image and I often wondered what it'd look like to see him less than composed," she ended.

Harry straightened himself, green eyes staring at the picture he made, ignoring her words. Karkaroff had insisted on throwing out everything he ever possessed, which wasn't much. The old man even bought him new glasses similar to his old ones. The boy had barely managed to save his old ones from a similar fate.

His side of the room was now packed with books and parchment, various robes and a new trunk. Karkaroff had returned with so many items. He even insisted on buying a pet for him, which was the point where the younger wizard drew the line. Harry wasn't kidding himself, though. He was currently nothing more than a dress-up doll made to look like a powerful wizard. He simply hoped that one day the less than subtle manipulations would come to an end.

"Fine, I'll leave it like that," Harry waved his new wand, cleaning some dust off his shoes. The last two hours after returning were used to practice as much as magic as possible. Harry had caught up on some theoretical work over the last few weeks, but spellwork was another matter. And he struggled, which worried him more than he'd like to admit.

"Good. I'll see you at the Welcoming Feast." And with that the ghost disappeared, leaving Harry to his anxious thoughts.

He checked whether everything was sufficiently packed away, hoping that his meager warding spell would hold against any intruders. He didn't fancy his potential new roommate looking over his stuff and finding the book Carolina has given him. Hopefully he'd get a chance to take a closer look at it later.

"Tempus"

Not much time left. Harry hoped Karkaroff wouldn't turn him into a spectacle. Harry left his room and prepared himself mentally.

* * *

The Great Hall wasn't decorated much and the tables were at their usual positions, but Harry enjoyed the torches with its blue fire lighting this place.

Harry knew that the school didn't have a house system like Hogwarts, having read all about the different ways children were placed into groups according to their personalities and wishes. He didn't know how they exactly these things were determined at Hogwarts, by now used to the snobbish way each wizarding school kept its secrets. Books on the Founders of Hogwarts held no answers.

In a way he appreciated the lack of segregation at Durmstrang, because it made everyone attending this school more equal to each other. It certainly would prove to be much more competitive.

And the black-haired boy had no problem believing that individual talents would matter more than group thinking.

He made his way over to the teacher's table, politely greeting the people whom he was yet introduced to. The handsome Deputy gave him a secretive smile.

"Now. You will be joining the First Years, but seeing as you're already here we will skip the official introduction and I'll make a statement before the Feast," Karkaroff informed him.

'Awesome,' Harry thought, nodding in acceptance. Something must've shown on his face when he caught the deputy headmaster's smile turning into a smirk.

Harry was dismissed and he returned to the table where the First Year students would be seated. Soon enough, a crowd of people led by a stern-looking, tall witch dressed in customary, black robes entered the Great Hall. More and more people spilled in and the atmosphere became stifling. Harry was used to the silence and general loneliness that usually accompanied. His anxiety rose.

Many students shot him curious looks, most of them dressed in exactly the same fashion as Harry. Not many recognized him from what Harry could see and no one approached him. Not for the first time, the young boy wondered how Karkaroff would manage to keep his presence a secret when so many people would soon learn of his identity.

When everyone was seated, Karkaroff rose and cast a  _sonorus_.

"Welcome back, Willkommen and Dobry Wieczór, ladies and gentlemen," the headmaster greeted, extending his arms.

Harry has read about the international, multilingual way in which students were taught magic at Durmstrang, remembering that classes were taught in English, but the students also had options to take some classes in their native language. It was much different from other wizarding schools.

Harry also knew that other than English and some broken French, he couldn't speak another language. He ought to learn more to communicate with his classmates properly. The pile of homework and general tasks he assigned to himself was growing each day.

"Welcome to another term here at Durmstrang Institute. Before we begin with the feast, I'd like to make some announcements. But first, please welcome the First Years who will be joining us." Polite clapping followed.

A side door opened and another group of people entered the room, led by the Deputy Headmaster. All of these kids were just as curious and fascinated as Harry had been when he first came to this school. They were looking around nervously.

"You are placed into different classes according to your magical skills, but we will be having a period of evaluation for a week, after which we will give out new timetables." If anything, the first year students looked even more nervous and Harry secretly panicked. He hadn't known about that. Classes that tested his magical skill? He's barely practiced magic...

"No staff changes have been made, but I have a very important announcement for all of you." Some of the teachers were now looking in his direction and Harry tried to look indifferent to all of it.

"Please welcome, Mr. Harry James Potter to Durmstrang," Karkaroff said and chaos broke out. Older students were pointing fingers, some were shouting and others were gaping at him in disbelief.

"Potter, no way-"

"What about the Dark Lord-"

"It's not possible, he-"

The professors didn't appreciate the noise and some of them grimaced in obvious dislike.

"Silence!" Karkaroff shouted and people obeyed, giving him nasty looks in return.

"You are not allowed to speak of him or his presence here at the school to any outsiders. Mr. Potter's education remains a secret to everyone not attending Durmstrang similar to the way we don't talk about the curriculum or the school's location. If you don't agree with this, you are free to leave but you will be expelled and your memories of this place or the students here terminated permanently." Karkaroff threatened and to Harry's surprise some students looked like they'd rather leave at once.

He expected hostility and outright bullying, but the situation was worse than he thought. Karkaroff gave another sign and with that the first year students made their way over to Harry's table. They kept their distance but weren't shy about their observation. A girl with blonde pig-tails murmured something to another girl and they giggled. Harry was already fed up.

Karkaroff clapped and various dishes appeared out of nowhere. Harry's appetite was nonexistent.

* * *

An elderly professor who looked like he'd rather be somewhere else led the First Years to the familiar dormitories. Harry couldn't wait to escape the whole affair, keeping his distance from the overexcited bunch of students.

The feast had been one of the worse experience in Harry's life. He didn't make any small talk and no one bothered to introduce themselves to him. This whole celebrity status grated on his nerves. On top of that, his scar had acted up again, shooting small spasms of pain through his skull. He had also caught the headmaster gripping his forearm tightly at some point.

"I'm Professor Laurens Wilkes and I'm teaching Potions," said the teacher, interrupting Harry's musings. He handed out parchments which included the timetable for the first week of the term and the room numbers." Harry was glad to see he'd be staying in his. The Potions professor shot him an indecipherable look. Harry tried to ignore it.

"No doubt, most of you will encounter trouble in my class, but I won't blame you for failing," he offered magnanimously, making the small children glare at him in return.

"Now off to bed. If you have questions, feel free to approach an older student." And with that, the man left them hanging.

Harry was the first to open the door and without another glance he made his way to the bedroom, hoping that no one would confront him now. There was a small, nagging voice inside him that told him he was fleeing. Harry hated it.

The other students began to chat excitedly, while some others sought out their own rooms.

Harry entered his room, blissful of the silence that was soon interrupted when the door opened again. Just his luck.

"I'm really lucky," a voice drawled and Harry whirled around, meeting bright blue eyes.

"Filipp Dolohov," the boy said, offering his hand. He was standing way too close to Harry. "Pleasure," Harry returned, remembering himself. He didn't bother telling him his name.

"I guess you're just too pleased sharing a room with me," Harry took in the other boy's appearance and vaguely noted a certain handsomeness on him. The name triggered something in his memory.

"If you mean, sharing a room with the famous Boy-Who-Lived, discovering all his habits and secrets and generally making your life less dull, then yes. I'm very pleased." The smug smile was distracting.

"My life is very exciting, thank you." Harry shot back, emotions carefully hidden.

"All the more reason for secrets, isn't it?" the boy said casually. He then stepped away from him to inspect his surroundings more closely. His trunk was already there. Harry observed him warily.

"Secrets are only shared with friends," the green-eyed boy murmured. The other First Year must've heard him anyway.

"And I intend to become your friend." With that Dolohov untied his sash and made his way over to the walk-in closet.

'I doubt that,' Harry thought, dragging himself to the bathroom.

No more words were exchanged between them and when Harry retreated to his bed, he withdrew the book, intending to read the first chapter before going to sleep. Filipp ignored him.

Upon closer inspection, Harry figured out that this must be a journal.

He wondered who Hepzibah Smith was, carefully tracing the letters on the cover revealing the owner.


	3. No Loyalty to the Dark

The book was a waste of his time.

Harry walked quickly towards the classroom, deliberately ignoring his fellow classmates who were already whispering and pointing fingers. His mind was occupied with new revelations. Or lack thereof.

Initially, he had expected more from the two wandmakers.

Harry believed they would give him something useful, something to help him out. Maybe a correct guide how to deal with the properties of his wand, or a spectacular research from this Hepzibah Smith person.

Instead he'd wasted another hour reading through the most boring, simpering account of someone's insignificant life. If anything, this Smith woman was nothing more than a gold-digging, old lady who had no idea about wands or Dementors or anything that could help him along the way. He'd nearly gagged when he came to the paragraph describing in detail the handsome features of a boy she'd met at some decrepit store called Borgin and Burkes.

Harry had stopped reading at that point, angry at himself and miffed at having lost precious sleep.

He really needed it at this point.

Harry sped up his steps, trying to get rid of the person following him through the corridors like a shadow.

"Oh come on Potter, don't be like that," someone called.

Harry's eyebrow twitched in annoyance, but he ignored the voice.

"I'm just trying to be friendly." Dolohov caught up with him, slightly out of breath. Thankfully, they were already reaching the potions' classroom.

Harry had dutifully attended breakfast, unable to escape the other boy's presence when he'd taken a seat right beside him; trying to make conversation and treating him as if they've known each other their entire lives. None of the other first years ever dared to do the same.

Dolohov suddenly touched Harry's arm.

"Potter, listen. Just for a moment."

He instantly withdrew from the boy's touch, glaring at him for his presumptuous attitude.

"What?" he hissed, his patience gone. The other boy sighed, equally displeased.

"I know you don't really believe me," he said.

"You don't say," Harry jeered, looking at the taller student with something akin to disdain. Dolohov didn't seem to mind, though. If anything, Harry's obvious dislike seemed to make him more persistent.

"Okay, okay. But listen." The other boy got serious, his gaze never wavering and seemingly piercing through Harry.

"We're stuck with each other for a long time, and I'm just trying to make this run as smoothly as possible."

"And it'd be fine, if you stopped bothering me!" Harry shot back.

"Really? And who will you talk to, Potter? Ghosts? Or do you enjoy being a loner in a school full of wizards and witches who detest you?"

"A bit dramatic, don't you think?"

"It's the truth," Dolohov stated. "You have no allies or people you can rely on. And I simply don't believe you'd let Karkaroff of all people play the role of your confidante."

Harry crossed his arms, unimpressed.

"Correct, but that doesn't mean I have to socialize with students who are secretly scheming behind my back and planning my demise at the hands of Voldemort."

"Don't  _say_  his name!" Dolohov hissed, his eyes furious.

"See, you're proving my point, _friend,"_ said Harry. He paused, thinking. "I remember now...I've read about the Inner Circle and the rumors surrounding your Lord's must trusted minions. The rest of your family wiggled themselves out of this mess, while your father is happily rotting away in Azkaban, isn't he?"

"You know  _nothing_!" the other boy spat, balling his hands as if preparing for an attack. Harry enjoyed how easy it was to rile him up.

"I know enough."

Both boys were locked in staring contest and Harry was satisfied to see that he was able to get to the other student, shaking that composed pureblood mask for a moment. It was a bold move, but Harry was already bound to one person controlling his fate. He didn't need another "friend", especially a shady figure like the Dolohov heir.

He decided to enlighten the taller boy.

"Let's make this very clear. You attempts to befriend me or whatever serve one purpose and one purpose only," Harry said, determined to finish this conversation. "To gain your master's favor, should he ever return. And no. I'm not blind to the possibility, considering all the rumors about his immortality."

Dolohov stepped back, eyes widening in surprise.

"Why so shocked? You didn't truly think I'd stay ignorant, did you? Your precious Lord's wellbeing or lack thereof matters to me, because my life is on the line. So I'm keeping tabs on that. And I'm not going to walk to my death with you or anyone else holding my hand, pretending to like me only to stab me in the back at the right moment," Harry said. "So kindly fuck off!"

He then glanced over the boy's shoulders and inaudibly sighed in relief when he noticed the rest of the students approaching.

The door to the classroom opened and Professor Wilkes beckoned them inside.

"This conversation isn't over," Dolohov hissed in his ear, before passing him. Harry waved him off, unconcerned.

He took a seat at the back of the classroom, so he could keep an eye on everyone in case they had a thirst for revenge.

Thankfully, Dolohov took a seat at the front.

Harry had no real experience with some of the more complex curses or jinxes to protect himself from bullies. Thanks to Karkaroff's belated purchase, he'd only manage to practice stuff like the jelly-legs curse. But he'd at least be able to assess threats properly instead of turning his back and remaining completely vulnerable.

Students filled in and soon a wand tapped against the front desk. Wilkes greeted the first years with disinterest, his voice a monotonous sound.

The professor really didn't look like someone who had a teaching license or a desire to spend time with the students, but Harry dutifully started taking notes. This was also his first class for students taking it in English, instead of the German potions class. Harry hoped he'd at least be able to learn another language before the end of his second year.

"I won't go into too much detail. Your task is to brew a simple cough solution." The man turned around and with a flick of his wand, instructions appeared on the board.

"Technically you should have no trouble with this task if you followed the simple explanation outlined in the introductory chapter. I will assess and outline your weaknesses at the end of the week, at which point you'll be properly divided." The students stared wide-eyed at the gruff-looking man.

"Now get moving. You have two hours." And with that the students were running off to get the ingredients. Harry decided to wait a little, frowning at some of the stuff written in his potions book. A couple of weeks ago he had taken the time to study the more obscure properties of some potions ingredients. His Muggle background didn't give him any knowledge on how Acromantula bones really looked like, and Harry didn't want to take his chances by relying on the labels.

When most of the students returned with their respective batch, he quickly made his way over to the cabinet, mindful of people who'd watch him. Thankfully, the first years were too busy and excited to pay him more attention than necessary, so Harry was able to get everything.

"Right, let's get this over with," Harry murmured, eyeing the vial with crocodile parts in interest.

Two hours later and he was just...done.

His hair was a mess and his fingers were stained with something he didn't like to examine too closely. He barely managed to avoid an explosion, having put too much ginger roots into his cauldron before stirring clockwise. Some of his classmates were not so lucky. The fumes were getting to them and Wilkes was barking orders left and right. To Harry's surprise, the man had simply nodded after passing him and taking a look at his first brewing attempt. So maybe his potion wasn't that bad.

Yeah, right.

He eyed the yellow color with dismay, knowing that it was supposed to be a thick, honey-colored syrup. Harry quickly snapped off another sprig of fennel, hoping that it would counterbalance the ginger. He carefully measured the amount and made quick calculations in his head that would increase the consistency; a trick Eileen had shown him, surprising Harry with her in-depth potions knowledge a couple of weeks ago.

Dropping the fennel, he watched curiously how the yellowish tint turned into a a darker color, coming closer to the honey, but still not as close as Harry would have liked. Unfortunately, Wilkes signaled the end of his first class and Harry waited until the others handed in their concoctions.

Wilkes gave him a sharp look when Harry stepped forward, but he didn't say a word and Harry quickly packed everything up and left, not wanting to be alone with this man. According to several old newspaper articles, the man possessed valuable Death Eater connections similar to the Dolohov family. And honestly, Harry wondered how Karkaroff could stand working and being surrounded by so many people who technically considered him a traitor and would gladly hand him over to the Dark Lord in revenge. It was another mystery Harry intended to solve.

He had another ten minutes before his Dark Arts Class and he needed to be on top for that one.

Casting a quick look over his shoulder, Harry made sure no one was following him, before leaving. He knew that Potions would most likely never be his favorite subject.

* * *

"Welcome to the Dark Arts," the professor called out, smiling at the students, who were watching him attentively.

Harry sat at the back again, gazing at the man with veiled interest. It was the handsome professor from before, the one with the brown hair. He was clad in more casual, dark blue robes rather than the standard black the professors usually wore.

"I'm Professor Julian Lysander Moline and I'll be teaching you everything you need to know about the Dark Arts." He paused, his eyes fixed on a small boy somewhere to the left.

Harry barely had time to distinguish the movements properly, as Professor Moline pointed his wand in the boy's general direction. Without warning a note came flying forward and the man grabbed it from midair. The boy looked mortified, and several students began to snicker at his misfortune.

"What's your name?" the professor asked calmly, his eyes now resting on the parchment. Harry looked over to see the boy ducking his head in embarrassment.

"Kristoff Petrenko, Sir," the boy replied, timid.

"Well, Mr. Petrenko, as you surely know, I don't look kindly upon students who aren't willing to pay attention in my class." With a wave of the man's wand, the note was incinerated, and some students groaned in disappointment, having geared themselves up for more humiliating acts.

"Detention with me this friday evening at six. Meet me in my office." And with that the professor continued his lecture, his earlier cheerful demeanor replaced with more stoicism. Harry remembered Muggle school and couldn't help but compare the man's attitude to his Muggle teachers who had been prone to punish people more severely, mocking children whenever they got caught. Dudley often got the brunt of a teacher's anger. As for wizarding schools, Harry liked to think his potions teacher would have done the same.

"As I mentioned earlier, you will be studying the Dark Arts, and if you manage to give me satisfactory results at the end of the week, you'll be allowed to attend the advanced classes with me."

Professor Moline stepped forward, arms behind his back now and his wand hidden.

"Now please take a look around and notice the various portraits I've hung up."

Harry had noticed them earlier. Portraits depicted vivid images of torture, death and what he guessed were dark creatures fighting against each other. The classroom didn't provide much sources of light, the blue curtains also not making much room for sunlight. He guessed the professor was deliberately creating a more gloomy atmosphere, and the moving pictures of decapitated bodies really just added to it.

Harry turned away from the sickening view of a ghoul eating someone's flesh and carefully assessed the reactions of his classmates. He wasn't surprised. Various students looked at the portraits as if they've seen stuff like that before. Some people were unimpressed and others barely even blinked. Then there were also the kind of people that reacted as any child would. Harry tapped his finger against his desk, feeling agitated. Frankly speaking, he thought it a bit drastic to show these kind of images. It didn't speak well of the families who were raising the kids who didn't react much. He himself wasn't accustomed to this kind of gore, except fake stuff from the telly. Uncle Vernon used to fall asleep during horror movies (and wasn't that just odd) and Harry sometimes had to turn it off in order to get some sleep in his cupboard. He'd been unable to look away a couple of times.

By now he knew that he really hadn't been raised by anyone, so his limits or his regard for rules were basically nonexistent. That didn't mean it was right, though.

And Harry knew that. It was some kind of backwards sense of morality that often told him what was okay and what was not.

And this class was already toeing the line of moral and responsible behavior. His professor caught Harry's frown, holding his gaze for another moment, before continuing with his speech.

"As you see, the Dark Arts encompass pain, death, destruction but also  _a sense of power._ Practicing the Dark Arts meets acknowledging that part of you that acts against your inherent, righteousness and goodwill. You accept that part of your humanity that naturally causes harm, that seeks to control, ensnare and punish those who have wronged you. The Dark Arts are a tool of self-preservation and aggression and the type of magic that reveals your  _innermost desires_. It's the most honest branch of magic you will ever encounter and mastering it means mastering yourself," Moline finished, voice grave and passionate.

Harry had read a couple of introductory passages to the Dark Arts, but this remark put a different spin on things.

Most of the students were looking riveted by the man, vibrating with excitement and smugness.

"Control is the key to the Dark Arts." Moline was now leaning back against his desk. "Without control, the magic you practice might consume you. You lose yourself to the most basic instincts in this world, becoming nothing more than a vengeful excuse of a human. Losing yourself to your nature makes you less than who you are, less than an animal. If you don't control the Dark Arts, it will control you."

Harry's scar was staring to pulse, giving him a small headache after a while, but he tried to ignore it.

Professor Moline continued smoothly.

"I'm afraid most of you will never be able to completely master the arts, as the risks are simply too high for most wizards. Not many adults can accomplish this feat and it usually takes years of training before we can even attempt the more complex magic."

A student raised her hand at this.

"Yes, Ms. - ?" Moline prompted, smiling again.

"Schneider, Danielle Schneider," the blonde girl with pigtails replied and Harry recognized her from before, having seen her in the Great Hall.

"I was just wondering...what's the point in learning this type of magic then?" Some others sneered at that, but Moline answered patiently.

"I assume you don't see the logic behind studying something you might not control, correct?"

She nodded and Harry could take a guess. It was quite obvious.

"Even if you don't become a master, recognizing what you're dealing with and experimenting with your affinity for magic can prepare you for life. As I said before, the Dark Arts reveal what you want or don't want to be. Denying yourself something, which is simply another part of human nature is like living a lie. And we can all agree that being honest with yourself is preferable to being a bigot."

The girl nodded, eyes shining in delight.

Harry was loath to admit that the professor really knew what he was talking about. But something was bothering him. However, he didn't manage to ask, because suddenly the man withdrew his wand and instructions appeared on the board.

"Today, I want you to stretch your magic. Whether you had practice using dark arts spells or not-," here Moline winked at Dolohov and Harry's lips tightened marginally.

"We will start with something simple. The Reductor Curse is a curse that we use to blast solid objects into pieces. Almost all wizards use it, but obviously you can imagine what would happen if you ever attempted to use that curse on a creature or a human," Moline smirked sardonically and for the first time Harry caught a glimpse of sadistic pleasure in the man's eyes, brief as it was.

Harry had read about this curse in one of the introductory books, but didn't have the time to practice it yet.

"You'll use dummies as target." The professor waved his wand in a complicated arc and twenty something mannequins appeared out of nowhere, while the students scrambled away as desks and chairs were pushed aside.

"Take as much time as you need and make sure not to point your wand at any other students." Some boys smirked at that and Harry was glad to see that this class was another one where he wouldn't need a partner. It was quite dangerous, though. He didn't want to think what would happen if one idiot decided to blow Harry to pieces.

Harry grabbed his wand and read the instructions carefully.

He was so engrossed with the explanation on correct hand movements, he didn't notice the way Moline was now gazing at him.

* * *

If potions were a nightmare, Dark Arts was another thing altogether.

Harry felt drained.

And not just because he'd blasted his self-repairing dummy to pieces over and over again.

His wand was giving him trouble.

More than it should.

Sweat was gathering on his forehead and his headache was now a persistent companion.

His creepy Dementor wand was acting exactly like a Dementor usually would. Every time Harry cast the spell, the wand would suck his magic right out of him, giving the spell more power than it should. None of the easier stuff he'd done yesterday ever felt like that. That's also why he felt so drained now. At some point, Moline had come over, suggesting that he should use less force and Harry had given him a look, telling him how much he appreciated the man's impressive deduction.

Meaning, not at all.

Thankfully, the professor left him alone then, taking care of many others who were struggling visibly. Unfortunately, Harry's constant magical explosions attracted too much attention and he felt more than one pair of eyes watching him nervously.

Thankfully the class ended soon and Harry couldn't wait to return to his dorm. He needed to lie down.

"Mr. Potter, may I have a word with you in private?" Moline asked suddenly, and a couple of students who were still packing their things, looked up. Harry smiled politely, internally cursing the man for drawing even more attention to him. Dolohov shot him a curious look before leaving, but Harry pretended not to notice.

When the last student left, Harry made his way over to the man, hoping that they wouldn't discuss his wand or what he was doing at this school in the first place.

"Please take a seat, Mr. Potter." And Harry did as told. He stared at him blankly.

The man's eyes were roving over Harry's face. But eventually, the professor broke the silence.

"How are you settling in at Durmstrang?" he asked.

Harry hesitated, not quite sure where this was going.

"Quite well, thank you," he hedged, giving a noncommittal reply. if Moline wanted to know more about Karkaroff's involvement, Harry decided he'd leave all answers to his headmaster.

"Good, good. I'm happy to know." The professor gave him a small smile, lips twitching slightly. Harry wasn't fooled.

"I was worried when news broke of your permanent stay at this school." The older wizard leaned forward, crossing his hands before continuing. "Obviously, your status and position in the current, political climate is unique. And given how secretive the headmaster is, I'm afraid you'll encounter more trouble from your peers." Harry instantly knew where this was going the moment the last words left the man's lips. He smiled in return.

"No trouble so far, Professor. Headmaster Karkaroff guaranteed my safety, as you should know."

"Should I?" the man's eyebrows rose in surprise.

"Within reason, of course, Harry said.

"Oh, do tell, Mr. Potter." Moline smirked.

"Well, as my professor I assumed it's your duty to take care of your student's needs." Harry gave him a pointed look and got another smile in return. "Since it's the headmaster who supervises my stay here, you're obviously bound to his final say in the matter, which means I have nothing to worry about as long as Professor Karkaroff takes my safety seriously. Beyond that, I obviously can't give you more information."

"Hm." Moline assessed him carefully.

"And what makes you think Headmaster Karkaroff's main concern is your safety?" he finally asked.

"Are you accusing him of something, Sir?" Harry replied, surprised that the man would be so bold.

"Maybe," Moline left his seat abruptly and calmly walked forward, delicate hands gliding over Harry's armrest, before disappearing from sight.

The younger wizard really didn't appreciate the blatant act of dominance, refusing to turn around. He had a sudden urge to rub his scar furiously. This conversation was pointless in his opinion, although it did reveal an obvious dislike the professor held for the headmaster. Now Harry only needed to figure out whether it was because of the man's traitor status or something else. Maybe Moline was some right-hand man to the Dark Lord. Merlin knows, this place was swarming with Death Eater family members.

The professor returned and carelessly threw today's Daily Prophet on the desk. Harry didn't pick it up yet, having no reason to do so as long as the man didn't say anything.

"Everyone here at the school including the students can take a well-educated guess as to why Headmaster Karkaroff took you in," Moline began, still standing right behind Harry.

"And while the circumstances are less than clear, it's true that I'm bound to take care of you, having decided to return to the school instead of leaving." Harry could feel the man's breath on his neck. Seriously, what was wrong with the guy?

"I'm also bound to keep your presence a secret from the general public, as Karkaroff confirmed. You can imagine how many people are frustrated with that...? Knowing the Boy-Everyone-Is-Looking-For is currently residing at Durmstrang but we're unable to tell anyone. Not even our families and certain...associates."

Harry was tired of this game.

"If you're so desperate to run to your half-deceased lord, by all means, do it!" Harry snapped.

As soon as the words left his mouth, he could've hit himself.

That was stupid and he really didn't fancy getting a detention.

To his surprise, Moline broke out in laughter, before returning to his seat, still chuckling. His eyes were alight in amusement.

"My Lord? Potter, I'm sorry to say this but if you're speaking of the Dark Lord, I'm afraid he's not in any way associated with me. Or I with him."

Harry gaped, unable to stifle his reaction.

"And I'm supposed to believe that?" he asked, incredulous.

"Believe what you will, but my dealings with the headmaster don't reflect on my loyalties. But let's get to the point," Moline explained, expression turning serious.

"We're all aware that Karkaroff lives on borrowed time and the only thing protecting him is this castle and the Norwegian school board, who were never allies of the Dark Lord and certainly appreciated his demise."

That was news to Harry. He listened carefully, wondering what the man was getting at.

"It also means that you're nothing more than a weapon, a carefully crafted sword and potential bargain, should the Dark Lord return. And I think you know that," Moline concluded, watching Harry's expression.

Harry remained silent, neither confirming nor denying anything. The wizard didn't need Harry's assurances, though.

"I agree with him on one thing. And that is training. Do the best you can, Mr. Potter. And I'll help you to the best of my abilities," the man assured him.

Now Harry was alarmed.

"And what do you get out of it?" the boy asked instead, instantly suspicious.

"An opportunity to witness certain changes that needed to be made right from the start," the man answered cryptically.

Harry didn't understand it at all. What changes?

Moline smiled again.

"You have potential. I noticed it as soon as I met you. It was surprising, to be honest. Considering who you are..." he mused.

Harry didn't want to comment on that and he didn't think the man would use flattery just to get something out of him. It wasn't a very subtle attempt at manipulation.

"Now if you would take a look at page 3 of today's issue," the man gestured at the newspaper in front of him.

The younger wizard had no choice but to comply and he carefully scanned the main article Moline was referring to, taking some time to process the information.

He missed lunch already. Hopefully he'd make it on time for his next class.

After a couple of minutes, Harry looked up again, genuinely curious after having read the article.

"Tragic, isn't it?" Moline asked.

"I suppose."

Tragic wasn't really covering it, Harry thought.

The man nodded in return, before explaining further. "The Longbottom family is an old pureblood, light wizarding family. Neville's parents were resistance fighters against the Dark Lord and it's not surprising the boy has become another target. They were quite prominent."

Harry frowned, considering this.

"The boy was taken from his grandmother's residence. They haven't figured out what happened yet?" he asked, unsure.

"No, the boy's disappearance is a mystery," Moline explained. "The wizarding world is now frantically looking for the both of you, but I'm certain Neville's circumstances are more dramatic."

"And how do you-?"

Moline interrupted, holding up his hand.

"Tell me, Mr. Potter. What do you know about prophecies?"

* * *

Filipp Dolohov wouldn't admit it, but he was sulking. He didn't bother talking to his classmates during lunch break. The free spot at the end of the table was already fueling speculations and rumors. He'd caught some of the snippets of conversation around him.

Danielle was currently raving about Potter's power and how he was destined to fight along the Dark side. Others were less impressed, thinking the boy only wanted to show off.

As always, the truth was somewhere else.

Potter was a mystery.

That he could admit.

When he'd first found out that he would be sharing dorms with none other than the Boy-Who-Lived, Filipp had laughed endlessly.

Oh, he'd been certain it would be a piece of cake to evade that pesky secrecy vow he'd signed with his acceptance letter. But so far, no luck.

His father would be ashamed.

When he'd met Harry Potter, things turned out to be more surprising than he at first thought. Because Potter wasn't really how he expected him to be.

The boy was withdrawn, anti-soclal and a certain sense of melancholy was always covering the boy like a protective shield. Filipp had been observant, hoping to find out more, but the small kid with the round glasses who defeated the darkest wizard of all time never grew enraged, never talked more than necessary.

It was difficult to get more out of him than general apathy.

Then he'd shown briefly just what lay dormant behind the facade when Potter told him to mind his own business.

There was a fire, a need to prove his strength in those unnatural, green eyes.

It wasn't surprising, considering his circumstances and the fact that he was surrounded by people who were essentially his enemies.

Potter's lack of idealistic, moral integrity however was unexpected. The young wizard had a plethora of Dark Arts books in his possession and didn't seem bothered at all by it, filling his mind with gruesome knowledge of torture and murder. His bookcase looked like a portable library.

And even more astonishing was the fact that he also collected whatever Light magic books he could get his hands on.

Dolohov didn't bother sharing that particular detail with the gossiping crowd, but he wondered just what truly went on in the hero's mind. Fact was Potter behaved rather open-minded about certain information and didn't reject knowledge of any kind.

As intelligent as Potter appeared to be in some areas, he was also incredibly unaware about other things, borderline foolish. Filipp didn't know much about Potter's background, but the boy stank of Muggle upbringing.

Social hierarchies were disregarded and even authority figures didn't seem to impress him.

Well, no one was impressed by Karkaroff, but that was another thing that wasn't adding up. The young wizard shouldn't be that docile or subservient to the headmaster. And while Filipp could understand that the man had somehow sunken his filthy claws into Potter, holding something over his head, Potter's behavior was strange.

But could it be that Potter was simply humoring the man, bidding his time.

For what, though? And how would Potter deal with the attention for the next seven years if at some point his presence here was bound to be discovered by the public?

And more importantly, how would the Dark Lord react?

Dolohov made up his mind. He'd keep his distance, but continue acting friendly toward his roommate, gathering information while avoiding the knowing looks Karkaroff gave him.

It was such a messed up situation.

* * *

Peter Pettigrew was staring at the remaining bits and pieces of Neville Longbottom.

The boy's carcass was a revolting sight, empty eye sockets and twisted limbs presenting the finishing touches. The body would start smelling soon.

He was also absolutely  _terrified of the man_ , the...being in front of him.

Another imposing figure was currently kneeling on the ground, kissing the hem of the taller man's robes. They were in the middle of nowhere and the inhabitants of the Albanian forest were unnaturally silent.

Lucius Malfoy handed over a small book and pale fingers touched the cover reverently, nails scratching over its leather surface.

The Dark Lord was finally back, having taken on a more humanoid form with the help of the ritual.

No words were exchanged and Peter swallowed nervously. He also felt the distortion in the air, as several hooded figures appeared.

Hopefully, he'd live to see another day.


	4. The Red Tale of a Prince

Harry listened to the sound of raindrops as they repeatedly hit the window pane. Delicate fingers were gliding over the surface and green eyes observed hidden patterns of countless streaks. These patterns looked vaguely like prison bars.

He was currently alone in the dormitory, enjoying the blissful silence for once.

A stormy weather marked his third day into the term and he'd endured another session of boring or slightly disturbing classes. The rain created a soothing effect, though, easing his temper and virulent desires.

Thankfully, his lovely roommate was currently busy making social calls with certain elite pureblood brats and wouldn't be back for another hour or so, leaving Harry to his dark thoughts.

To be honest, he felt somewhat lost.

If someone told him several months ago, he'd be practicing magic and donning the role of a reluctant, national hero, he would have sent them straight to St. Brutus himself.

And wasn't that just the irony of his life?

He tried to escape his miserable, meaningless fate only land himself in an even more violent situation with even less control.

The conversation with the illustrious Dark Arts professor haunted him.

Moline's words were a mockery, the revelation destroying Harry's secret hopes and visions of a better future.

Of course, he hadn't known much about prophecies, although countless books in Durmstrang's library had referred to vague concepts about seers and their ability to accurately describe the future.

Harry wasn't interested in predestined accounts, though. He had skipped the theories about prophecy orbs and how to bottle fate, dismissing some of the more colorful descriptions of a seer's amazing skills.

The fact that a prophecy involving Voldemort and himself even existed, shouldn't have surprised him at all.

It was still revolting, though.

And Harry wouldn't admit it, but he'd been stunned when Moline had explained offhandedly how the Dark Lord immediately acted on it as soon as he got wind of someone destined to defeat him. That was a clear case of paranoia for Harry and it revealed a weakness that should've been easy to exploit.

Then the Dark Lord had gotten himself killed.

Harry could perceive a sense of justice in that, because it reminded him to be more cautious; that rushing into something without rational explanations could only end in death.

To be honest, this mistake on Voldemort's part humanized him to some degree, putting the megalomaniac down on the level of mere mortals such as Harry.

So it was with a feeling of dread and satisfaction that Harry accepted this riveting story about two star-crossed enemies.

It still meant that there was no escape.

No means of bowing out and telling the wizarding world to go screw themselves.

Moline admitted that only Voldemort, some of his closest Death Eaters and Dumbledore truly knew about the prophecy and when asked how he'd come upon the knowledge, the professor had disregarded Harry's scrutiny.

Again.

The newest development was causing another problem.

He turned away from the window and let his eyes dance through the room, bypassing his desk where another mountain of books on topics like divination was awaiting him. Instead he made his way over to the nightstand and picked up his wand.

The reaction was instantaneous.

The wood grew hot in his palm and that feeling of having something sucked out of him returned with a vengeance.

It had gotten worse over the last three days.

Harry assumed it was most likely a side-effect of his constant use of magic in class. Unfortunately, he couldn't really approach the headmaster about it. The man would surely fish for more information that the younger wizard simply couldn't reveal. And that inaction unfortunately closed the doors for another visit to Morocco or Germany.

Harry hadn't had much time reading Hepzibah's book, but maybe he should give it another chance. He put the wand away, relieved when the energy that temporarily sapped him of his strength, came rushing back.

It was now clear that he'd have to do something about this, because he couldn't imagine casting magic and ending up like a weakling every single time. It also bothered him that no students experienced similar problems.

His lips formed into a thin line, displeasure evident in his expression. Harry sat down on his bed.

The others have started gossiping again, and while it wouldn't annoy him too much, the controversy has spilled over to the teachers, most of whom regarded him as a bug ready to get squashed. And that was a huge problem. On top of struggling with a temperamental wand, he would need to watch out for people who could harm him under the pretense of a teacher's concern.

He balled his fists, imagining all the ways an authority figure could abuse his position of power right under Karkaroff's nose.

"Are you alright?" someone called, and Harry flinched.

He eyed the newcomer and groaned when Eileen once again floated over to him.

"Didn't I tell you not to do that?" he grumbled, crossing his arms.

The ghost smirked and reached out to ruffle Harry's hair. Harry couldn't exactly slap her hand away, but the sensation was still unwelcome.

"Do what?" she asked, somewhat affectionate as she glanced at the stiff form of the young Potter heir.

"Nevermind," he huffed.

Harry considered her for a moment, his thoughts on the problem he had contemplated earlier. Perhaps she knew something.

He decided to ask.

"Do you know whether there's a possibility to leave the castle without triggering the wards?"

Eileen's movements stilled, but she caught on.

"Not that I'm aware of," She hesitated. "Karkaroff was very careful about the details concerning you. Any movement on your part is monitored carefully. He'd know instantly if you left," she said and paused, thinking.

"I'm honestly surprised you're asking about it now," she admitted, cocking her head to the side. Harry could understand her confusion, though.

"Well, I didn't have much of reason to leave earlier, but this is kind of important, I guess." He shrugged.

Eileen's eyes landed on his wand and something seemed to shift in her warm look, something that Harry would call dark satisfaction. And that wasn't making any sense, but it raised his alarm bells nonetheless.

"This is about your lack of control, correct?" she demanded suddenly and Harry leaned back against the headboard, not really questioning how she knew about that. The dead witch seemed extremely perceptive when she wasn't trying to act like a cheerful, quivering mess of excitement.

He nodded instead, confirming her thoughts. It wouldn't give him anything except a headache, while trying to hide the information from her.

"You want more answers from the people who gave you this wand and I think it's a good incentive to leave," she began. "Honestly, I think they expect you anyway. Didn't one of the wandmakers gave you a book to study?" she asked.

Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"Eh-, well, they did, but it didn't really help," he admitted.

"Hm, you should've been given more information, but I guess Karkaroff's presence was bothering them." She sat down on the bed, legs passing through the bedsheets.

"Maybe there's a way to leave without anyone noticing," Eileen whispered.

"Oh, now you're saying that?"

"I can't exactly talk about this freely, Harry. This castle has eyes and ears everywhere," she shot back, annoyed.

"We're safe here. I've used a runic inscription to cast a permanent, privacy ward on my side of the room." Harry rolled his eyes, when she stared at him in astonishment.

"That's terribly advanced for a first year like you who's only now started to practice." She was skeptical, wondering where such a rune could be found. Harry didn't bother telling her about the dubious source he had used.

"I'm not a dunderhead, you know. With people watching my every move, it's necessary to take precaution," he explained, eyes flashing. "And just so you know. That piece of magic nearly made me pass out, because that stupid wand is practically  _draining_  me." He stressed the last part deliberately, wanting to get his point across.

"I see."

The ghost flew over to Harry's bookcase, and she pointed at one of the book titles.

"It's still astonishing to cast wards like that, but I suggest you don't practice any advanced magic unless you want to turn into a squib."

Harry looked over at the section where he'd amassed books on magical cores, thanks to Karkaroff's generous donations. He slowly stood, wincing at the slight pain in his hand. No doubt the wand was leaving more noticeable traces on him. And yes, turning into that after having gotten a taste of his heritage would be a crappy deal, even for him.

"I wasn't planning on doing more. Unless I sort this out, I doubt I even get into some of the more advanced classes," Harry said, bitterness welling up inside him. He enjoyed getting to know his limits and testing the boundaries of this world. He'd never had that with the Muggles.

"Then you'll have to get in contact with the wandmaker as soon as possible," Eileen said. "Karkaroff is pushing you to become strong enough to help him out and you'll have to prove yourself in some way or another if you want to keep your cover here."

"You told me to become stronger as well," Harry said pointedly. She smiled in return.

"Yes but for your own good. To control your own fate."

"And what's my fate, then?"

"Whatever you want. It's not my place to decide for you. Last time I checked, I'm not the headmaster," she argued, still smiling. Harry sighed, scratching the back of his neck, before checking the book title Eileen had pointed out for him.

"True. You're more like an annoying, meddlesome aunt who's only capable of talking in riddles."

"I'm flattered."

And now she was full-on smirking.

"Yeah, right," Harry said, smiling falsely in return.

He reached out for the book.  _A Study of Magical Core Duplication and Transfusion._

 _"_ And that is supposed to help me out?" He frowned. "Didn't you tell me I shouldn't practice advanced magic? Hell, that kind of stuff is beyond school level."

The tome was heavy in his hands. He vaguely remembered reading a couple of chapters on how manifest your magical core and infuse part of your magic into something else. He'd only understood about 5 percent of what the author was talking about.

"True, but today is your lucky day. I consider myself an expert on magical transfusion," Eileen bragged, tilting her head up in a parody of someone important.

"You're a Potions expert," he said drily, not exactly amused. Eileen attempted to shove him playfully, her bony hands passing through Harry's body. She eyed his stillness in disappointment.

"I would be a fool to rely on one branch of magic, Harry. There were several things I wanted to study. I wasn't lacking in ambition," she explained, turning serious. He detected the shift in conversation and nodded, accepting her words. He was the same, after all.

In his case ambition was more of a matter of survival, though. And -to a lesser extent- the wish to discover more about himself, how far he could go without other people holding him back.

"But that kind of magic takes months to study. I can't just cast the spell and all my problems are solved."

"Technically, not. But there are certain shortcuts in magical transfusion. Ways to direct small parts of your magic into something without complications," Eileen explained, eyes narrowing in contemplation.

"The idea is to fool the school's wards into thinking you're there when you're really not. Usually there are several ways to go about it, but it's very dark magic and it takes years to completely duplicate an entire magical core for a couple of hours. But that's not exactly what we need in your case," she went on and Harry wondered, how he could pull that off.

"In a way, you could simply add a mere fraction of your magic to something, and it would be enough, because the rest of you is not there."

Harry was confused.

"But when I'm casting a spell, let's say transfiguring an object. Isn't that the same? I mean, I force my magic to turn an object into something else." He was really curious about that theory.

"And your magic is only changing the molecular structure of the thing you're transfiguring. You aren't transfusing part of yourself into something else. Your conscious presence doesn't exist within the object or even the animal, unless you use are an animagus or bother to transfigure parts of yourself. Your magical essence isn't lingering on the object, but forcing said object to change an already existing essence. However, with this study it's like... Muggle blood donation with magical transfusion. You give away something of yourself permanently," she ended and Harry gaped.

That made sense. It also sounded extremely complicated and Harry was certain he'd never succeed doing something like that.

She caught his expression, and smiled gently.

"As I said before, you can fool wards with just one small part of yourself. And giving up that part wouldn't even matter, as long as you disappear at exactly the same time the part detaches from your magical core. In fact, you need another wizard or witch to oversee the process, because your magical energy also needs to return to you at the same moment you come back. That's how you can fool Durmstrang's wards into thinking you've never been gone. And I know how to help you out with that," she explained. Harry licked his lips, anticipation filling him.

"So when can we start? I mean if you're sure that method works, and I don't pass out or something..." he trailed off, putting the book back. Eileen scrunched up her nose.

"There's a small problem," she said.

"Of course!" Harry rolled his eyes. Things were never that simple. She looked at him somewhat uneasily.

"I'm a ghost," she said.

"No shit, Sherlock."

Eileen stared, a bit confused, but went on.

"Ghosts don't possess any magic of their own," she explained and Harry could've smacked himself.

"So that means you can't oversee the transfusion," he added.

"Exactly. I mean I can explain what to do, but you need another magical anchor that makes sure the transfusion runs smoothly and that you disappear at the correct time when the small part of yours detaches from your core," Eileen said and Harry knew what that meant.

"No."

"But Harry, there's really no other way that works better in your case," she exclaimed, waving her hands.

"No, I won't bring someone else into this."

"Harry-"

"The entire point is that I work out what's wrong with my wand. I'm not supposed to talk about the wand and that kind of makes sense, considering the stuff I read about certain properties. And there's not a single soul in this school I can trust. No one who wouldn't immediately ask questions," he hissed, frustrated.

"You don't have to tell them why you're disappearing," she pointed out and Harry carded his fingers through his hair, pacing back and forth.

"No, I really don't. But one mystery leads to another and I would have someone else butting in and trying to figure it out for themselves. Besides, most people would expect something in return for their help," Harry said, unconvinced.

"Not Julian!" the ghost murmured.

Harry stared.

"As in Julian...Moline? Professor creepy-Dark Arts-pedophile Moline?" Harry uttered, shocked.

"Pedo-? Harry, what the hell?" Eileen exclaimed, gaping at him.

"Well, the guy is about as trustworthy as Karkaroff or Dolohov Junior. And," Harry breathed heavily. "He was kind of odd around me."

"Was he now?" she mumbled, stroking her chin in thought. Her eyes met his green ones and she nodded, seemingly to herself.

"He's trustworthy, Harry. You can believe me," she said, eventually.

"I can barely trust you."

The words seemed to have the desired effect, because the ghost flinched and retreated. Harry couldn't really regret it, though. It was the truth after all, even if the witch was generally likable.

She found her composure, shaking off the uncomfortable silence that had descended between them.

"I don't really know what happened in your life to make you so...paranoid." Harry was about to protest, but she held up her hand.

"But I can understand it, Harry." He noticed the way she used his name whenever she felt like suggesting more closeness and familiarity between them.

"Your position is dangerous and it'd be foolish to walk around with your heart on your sleeve."

Harry didn't want to confirm it, but he agreed. Of course, he agreed. It was stupid to befriend people who saw you as nothing more than a celebrity or cannon fodder for their own desires and ambitions. And he had no delusions about the ghost's willingness to help him.

Kindness came with a price, after all. Eileen Prince wasn't much different from other people Harry had met before, ghostly existence aside.

She turned around, eyes piercing through him.

"But you can take my word for it. Professor Moline will look out for you. In the same way he looked out for me. He's not a Death Eater or whatever you want to believe," she told Harry.

"Look out for you?" Harry asked, curious. Eileen had never told him much about herself, and he could guess she'd try to convince him now with something more personal.

The ghost sighed, her thin frame appearing even smaller in the darkened room.

"I was murdered, Harry."

The black-haired youth didn't say anything to that, but surprise broke through him anyway. That wasn't what he had expected. A bitter smile graced Eileen's sullen features.

"In fact, I was murdered here at Durmstrang at the time when my teaching assistance began to bother some people."

"You taught Potions, right?" Harry asked, uncomfortable with the topic.

"Indeed, and it was one of the more memorable times of my life." She paused again. "You see, I was married to a Muggle and -as was the norm- disowned by my family after my marriage. The disgrace of the Prince family they liked to call me."

Harry still thought the whole Pureblood propaganda was worthless, so it was shocking to hear how far people would go for it. To justify their own sick beliefs, because they were so ignorant...

He was thoroughly disgusted with them. It proved once again that wizards were just as human as the Muggles they so despised.

Eileen didn't seem to notice the way Harry's eyes darkened in fury. She continued.

"At that time, Julian was an aspiring and eager student of mine, with a prestigious background and full of plans and hopes to become a Potions Master."

"But he's the Dark Arts teacher," Harry added unnecessarily.

"It's not his preferred teaching profession. But his close association with me gave him more problems. He couldn't do much about it, though. Not until Karkaroff became headmaster, at which point he returned safely," she said.

"When the Dark Lord rose to power, waging his first war and all that came with it, he was recruiting many people and usually ensnared the wizards who used their talents to support the Dark. Julian refused and I fell out of favor because of my association to my husband. I wasn't welcome here anyway." Eileen's features were twisted in sudden anger. Harry had never seen her like that in the months that he'd known her.

"As a woman and a blood traitor, talent didn't seem to matter anymore. My teaching position was nothing more than a poor excuse to keep the shunned Prince girl in line with the Dark. My student however planned to leave and eventually managed to escape the Dark Lord's notice. He used to look out for me when others gave me trouble. When he left, driven by the Dark Lord's pursuit of his talents, I had no more allies in this castle. And Karkaroff's predecessor murdered me here at the school, when I refused to leave my husband. Julian still blames himself for my choices, that foolish boy."

Eileen gazed at him, seeing through him. And she really looked her age at that moment. Almost ancient.

Harry tried to take it all in. The murderous ways in which dark wizards persecuted their own kind, all that senseless violence. It strengthened his belief that something really needed to change.

"I see," he eventually whispered.

"There's nothing you need to commit to, Harry. I simply hope that you try to see dark wizards as more than a monolithic group of people with the same beliefs," Eileen said, determined.

"Take your time, but eventually you have to sort out your wand problem. And two people, with one dead, are not enough for that."

With that, she cast Harry another sorrowful look, before leaving.

Harry stumbled over to his bed, his thoughts swirling with promises and new information. His wand was still lying innocently on the nightstand.

* * *

Something wasn't adding up, Harry thought. He quickly approached one of the bigger rooms where an excited group of students was already gathered, slithering around like snakes and generally making a nuisance of themselves.

Dolohov had barged into their room earlier, claiming that the headmaster had news for the students, something to do with advanced classes. Harry's presence was required.

But the dark-haired wizard was thinking about Moline and his refusal to deal with the Dark Lord. If that was true, and he believed Eileen's story, then how come Moline knew about the prophecy?

How come this wizard knew about something that not many people were privy to? Was he an ex-dark wizard turned light? A spy for Dumbledore, perhaps?

He'd have to force another confrontation with the man, if he wanted to sort this out.

Half an hour later, Harry knew that this confrontation would need to happen sooner rather than later when Karkaroff announced they would test the students at the end of the week. Harry really didn't want to draw more attention to his uncontrollable wand. Merlin knows what this thing would do in the tests. His hand was twitching in discomfort.

With dejection Harry climbed the stairs to one of the deserted corridors he used whenever he wanted to get away from the students. And found it occupied.

A tall, dark-haired boy was firing spells in rapid succession at an invisible target, impressing Harry with the sheer speed and power behind the spells.

The wizard was also on guard, because he immediately turned around, meeting Harry's eyes.

Harry wanted to apologize and leave, but the stern-looking boy instantly shuffled over to him. For a second, the smaller boy thought he would get attacked, but a handshake was apparently the only thing the boy wanted.

"Viktor Krum." The student introduced himself and Harry was confused at the way the hesitant smile temporarily softened Krum's sharp features.

"Harry Potter, nice to meet you," he replied, shaking the strong, calloused hand.

"I hav vanted to talk to you for some time, Harry Potter," the boy with the sallow skin and thick eyebrows suggested.  _  
_

"So you've been following me around and eventually found my secret spot?" Harry shot back, amused. He couldn't really describe why, but the other wizard didn't give of the same feeling that many other students here did.

"Something like that," Krum murmured, a bit embarrassed. Honestly, it was like watching a giant threatening grizzly turning into a teddybear.

Harry blinked, not quite sure what to say now.

"There are rumors, about you. I don't believ half of them," Viktor stated.

"Let me guess, the next Dark Lord maybe? Or an assassin employed by the headmaster to kill all students who support He-Who-Is-A-Giant-Dead-Dick"

Krum chuckled at that, the raspy quality of his voice at odds with the the happiness Harry could detect.

"You are very bold," he told him, and Harry gasped, mock-offended.

"Am I? Well, next time I try for the more timid, reluctant hero-version," Harry said and Krum's smile grew bigger.

"Please do that. I'm sure the others vill appreciate it more," the boy replied, before his eyes bored into Harry, suddenly very serious.

"Your arrival is not vat people expected. Is Headmaster Karkaroff treating you right?" Harry who had been more relaxed, caught the boy's look and grew suspicious again. He felt odd, knowing that he'd let his guard down so easily around him.

"It's okay. I'm here on my own terms," Harry explained, words chosen carefully. Krum stared at him in doubt.

"Are you? Many people think you are his veapon." Harry grew alarmed, remembering where they were. Grasping the boy's arm tightly, he pulled him away and in the direction of Harry's room. He had a feeling that this conversation would be interesting. Hopefully he'd manage to kick Dolohov out.

* * *

Lucius Malfoy prided himself on his ability to adjust to dire circumstances. Therefore it was a hit to his pride knowing that from now on he would have to give the reins over to someone else.

Again.

It's been years since the last time.

And he'd grown comfortable in his position, enjoying the life of a wizard at the top. Now he was a pitiful slave, albeit one that still believed in the cause of his master.

They were currently located at one of the Dark Lord's secret bases and one that hasn't been used in years. The dusty and cold rooms would make him ill sooner or later.

But he was here for a purpose.

The cowering form of Peter Pettigrew greeted him at the threshold to the Dark Lord's study, but he didn't pay any attention to the rat.

The tantalizing magic that filled the room and crawled up his spine, made the Malfoy patriarch shudder involuntarily. It beckoned him to come closer, to get lost in its feeling. But a powerful threat always accompanied the sensation and it reminded him that his Lord's seduction was of political nature. Not a personal one.

It reminded him that he was a tool and not on equal ground with the man. And how foolish it was to think of the Dark Lord as a mere mortal.

Lucius was an insignificant speck of dust compared to him.

Sometimes it angered him more than he'd like to admit, but envy was unbecoming of a Malfoy and he would fulfill his duties to the best of his abilities.

As he always had.

If he was destined to be insignificant, then at least he wanted to be on the right side for it, the more significant one. With renewed vigor, he straightened himself, but before he could announce his presence, the Dark Lord's door opened.

"Come, Lucius," the deceptively soft voice called out and the Blonde obeyed, feeling stupid for losing himself in his thoughts so easily.

He didn't dare raise his head, fearful of the man's gaze, but he crossed the room, bowing low in greeting. His meager Occlumency shields were raised to full power, but Lucius couldn't hope to keep his thoughts hidden away from the older wizard.

Incriminating memories could mean instant death.

He caught the distinctive sound of a quill scratching against parchment and he looked up further, noticing how the man busied himself writing something down, occasionally turning his head to gaze at another report. He wasn't paying Lucius any attention.

But that voice cut through the oppressive silence anyway.

"I assume you have returned with the file," the Dark Lord said, sharp, demanding. It wasn't a question.

The quill never left the man's hand.

"I have, my Lord," Lucius confirmed, not wanting to say more unless asked to.

"Do continue," the order was clear, but the quill was still dancing across the surface. Lucius didn't let his irritation bleed through, knowing that whatever he felt or would feel was an open book to the man.

"Igor Karkaroff has been installed as headmaster since 1981, gaining his position and the favor of Norwegian's government shortly after his trial. Unfortunately, many supporters of our cause left the school. And it is incredibly difficult to gain foothold within Durmstrang. Students and teachers alike are magically isolated and the secrecy act is still part of the school's clause. He's heavily protected by the government," Lucius concluded. He hesitated, knowing that the next part would be crucial and of interest to the man.

When no words were offered in return, he walked forward and left the file on the man's desk, retreating again with calm steps that belied his inner thoughts.

"A couple of months ago, the students received an urgent missive from the school's board and were warned of a change regarding the secrecy vow. Another clause was implemented and students and teachers alike were forced to decide whether they wanted to continue attending or not." He paused, breathing ragged with anticipation. "This is pure speculation on my part, but some of the families of the students confirmed that the children refusing to return were obliviated as per agreement. Apparently the information was classified with level A by the government. I believe it coincides with-"

The quill stopped scratching against the parchment and crimson eyes met Lucius's terrified gaze.

"It coincides with...?" the Dark Lord prompted, deceptively light.

Lucius swallowed, but gathered whatever remaining courage he possessed.

"Harry Potter's disappearance, my Lord," he finished.

More silence filled the room, but this time it felt more like being consumed by dark, tantalizing magic, ripped apart by it. Nothing showed in the Dark Lord's expression, though.

If anything, the man looked bored.

And Lucius knew he'd somehow screwed up.

"I'm not interested in speculations," Voldemort voiced, calm in spite of the dark pleasure sparking in his gaze.

"Then-?" the Malfoy patriarch began, but abruptly those crimson eyes turned threatening.

"I didn't ask for your opinions or theories, Lucius. I asked for facts. Now tell me, my slippery friend? Is Harry Potter currently residing at Durmstrang?"

And the blonde wizard could say nothing to confirm it.

"I'm not sure, my Lord."

"Has Dumbledore found the boy yet?" Lucius flinched.

"I don't know, my Lord."

"Then your information is meaningless."

The words echoed off the walls and Lucius bowed once again, acknowledging his mistake and hoping that he wouldn't be punished for it.

"Your priority is to court the Norwegian minister of foreign relations to the cause and to infiltrate the school and all related institutions under Karkaroff's control."

The Dark Lord returned to his work, dismissing his follower.

"Yes, my Lord." No more words were exchanged between them.

Lucius left the room without looking like he wanted to get out, gloved hands shaking slightly. He knew he somehow escaped punishment, but he couldn't help wondering why the man hadn't been more excited about these news.

Dumbledore didn't know about Durmstrang's heightened security after all. And the fact that the events overlapped so neatly was certainly suspicious. But maybe the Potter brat had fled and gotten himself killed. Muggles reported that they've heard more than one voice in the train's compartment and some kids even witnessed the boy's departure.

The door to the Dark Lord's study closed and heavy wards were erected. Lucius Malfoy completely missed the man's reaction.

Voldemort's eyes darkened in satisfaction and he leaned back in his seat, thin lips forming the name  _Harry_  soundlessly.


	5. Ending a Life

Dolohov was a stubborn idiot.

If he didn't behave like a clingy pest that wanted to make Harry's life unpleasant, he mostly commented on all the other people in the castle, and especially those Harry associated with. Not many, admittedly. But it was still enough to drive him mad.

Viktor Krum became another victim of the boy's scorn and Harry had to endure a session on pureblood supremacy debates that escalated into a shouting match between the Bulgarian and Dolohov.

Pity.

Harry had looked forward to talking with Krum in private, considering the fact the older student didn't seem to mingle with the rest of the school, in spite of his popularity. He'd eventually said his goodbyes and Harry ignored a pissed off roommate for the rest of the evening.

Classes resumed the next day and Harry realized that he wouldn't be able to pay Gregorovitch or Ms. Yassine a visit.

And that spelled trouble for him.

Friday turned out to be the disaster he had expected, with exams in every single subject making every first year student student miserable. And seriously, whose brilliant idea was it to test students on a week's worth of academic, magical knowledge?

Harry gritted his teeth in frustration, fighting the nausea that came upon him with the repeated use of his wand. His right arm was shaking visibly and it was a chore trying to hide his discomfort from the others. Karkaroff's suspicious eyes were following him seemingly everywhere.

He'd escaped the tumult in the Great Hall, with Krum wishing him good luck for the rest of his exams. Thankfully, Potions and Runes had turned out all right and Harry had been able to focus on the material...for the most part. History of Magic proved to be a nightmare, which in the end didn't bother him too much.

He planned on dropping History anyway, as well as Care of Dark Magical Creatures and Astronomy, so the test results were utterly irrelevant in these cases.

But after Transfiguration his concentration had been shot to hell.

Too bad, the final exam was  _Dark Arts_.

Technically, he knew Karkaroff only expected the best of him, but Harry scoffed internally, thinking how absolutely delusional the man was for putting his fate in the hands of a child. Hell, everyone was delusional for doing that, which was another reason Harry appreciated the isolation Durmstrang provided.

He didn't want to deal with an adoring crowd.

"Hey Potter, good luck with your exam," Danielle called, giving him a cheery wave, before turning around to talk to her friends.

They were currently waiting for Professor Moline, and Harry busied himself trying to make himself as inconspicuous as possible. The German girl never shied away from conversations and polite greetings, no matter how often Harry showed his disinterest.

The nervous atmosphere was getting to him now, as he quietly observed the others. Some people were still cramming last bits and pieces of information in their heads and Harry noticed with amusement how Dolohov gave him a pointed look, taking a seat two rows down while repeating soundless incantations for practice.

The excited murmurs stopped as soon as the professor walked in. And with a wave of the man's wand, a clock appeared.

"Good evening, and welcome to the Dark Arts exam," the man greeted, smiling gently. "The first part of the exam is merely theoretical. You simply fill out the questions sheet and skip those you have no answer for. The second part, however, will be practical and you'll be paired up in groups of two as I call you to the front. It's going to be a simple duelling practice," Moline explained, and several students paled at that. The professor smirked at that.

"Don't worry. If you have studied the curses and defense spells I introduced this week, you'll have no trouble passing the exam. And with that, you may begin."

Harry quickly turned the paper and sighed in relief when he finished reading the first question.

He went into detail describing the wand movements for the blasting curse, ignoring the pain in his arm for the moment.

* * *

"Time's up." With another wave, all sheets of paper were quickly collected and Harry leaned back, satisfied and confident he'd answered all questions correctly.

"Now, you'll be called out to the front and you have exactly one minute to disarm or incapacitate your opponent. No curses beyond level 3 should be used, unless you want me to call your parents or interrogate you on knowledge you technically shouldn't have," Moline threatened lightly.

"Ankalov, Maria and Bishop, Kevin."

The professor had created enough space for the two students to duel properly, but the rest of the class had to stand in the back.

Harry wasn't interested in watching that spectacle.

He was more worried about his wand and what it could possibly do in a duel. He couldn't afford to use more harmless spells, but knowing that with each curse his magic would be drained by his own wand...

He'd have to be quick about it.

It went on and on and some people were easily able to defeat their opponents. It also became clear that many pure-bloods favored showing off the skills they've been taught at home.

The duel ended in a draw.

"Potter, Harry and Dolohov, Filipp," the professor suddenly called, and Harry grimaced.

'Just fantastic,' he thought, shuffling forward and facing the other boy who was already patiently waiting for him. So much for going the easy way.

He observed the other boy, who gazed at him impassively, his stance relaxed and mirroring Harry's own in a way that was almost a mockery. But Harry could detect a hint of nervousness in the way the taller boy was gripping his wand. He smirked in return.

"On the count of three," Moline said.

Harry raised his wand, the wood making the skin of his palm burn without any outward changes. The magic that connected him to the core was already rising, as if preparing on instinct.

"One."

Dolohov pointed his wand at him, blue eyes narrowed in concentration.

"Two."

Harry adjusted his stance slightly, trying to guess how the baby Death Eater would proceed.

"Three."

Both fired off their spells, and Harry sidestepped the  _Expelliarmus_ , not bothering to raise a shield, unlike Dolohov who was forced to block his Stinging Hex. But he was very quick on his feet and Harry knew he'd simply have to start throwing one spell after another at his opponent without overthinking it.

" _Flugratis Torma_ ," Dolohov called, and Harry frowned, raising a  _protego_. The spell bounced off his shield neatly, but the force of the curse pushed Harry back slightly. That was almost a level 4 curse, if Harry remembered correctly, but Moline led it slide.

Harry jumped to the side, ducking when another curse, this time an unknown one that was hurled at him.

40 seconds left and he was fed up with being on the defensive. He threw a choking curse at the boy, while using the opportunity to step closer. He was tempted to simply charge ahead, but Harry didn't think Moline would appreciate his Muggle style approach.

He murmured  _protego_  again and again and reinforced his shield. Hopefully, the thing would hold off Dolohov's increasingly more harmful curses. Harry then raised his wand above his head, drawing a circle-like pattern, feeling his temper rise in response to Dolohov's attack.

He knew this spell would backfire on him spectacularly, but he wanted to wipe that arrogant smirk off the boy's face. And deep down, he didn't like admitting defeat at all. He chanted the spell with only the slightest hesitation. The wand was greedily taking in his magic, channelling it and making it more difficult to control the amount of magic he used.

20 seconds left.

" _Vires Defero,_ " Harry called, focusing on the movement. At once, his wand reacted, heating up in his palm and nearly making him drop it.

His defense was almost down, but he recognized the look on Dolohov's face. He must've known about Harry's spell, for he immediately started to raise a shield of his own; a variation of the protego that wouldn't even be covered this year.

10 seconds left and Harry threw all of it at the boy, a beam of bright light hitting the shield with precision. It should paralyze Dolohov temporarily, if his protection didn't hold.

As predicted, the shield shattered upon impact and the light hit the boy square in the chest, ending the duel effectively.

Harry lowered his wand, curious to see how the curse would affect Dolohov's nervous system.

What happened next was so much worse.

Dolohov dropped to his knees and started shrieking, and Harry noticed that his wand stopped affecting him almost instantly, but was now doing something to the boy in turn.

Harry stared horrified at the way the wand was now apparently sucking Dolohov's magic out of him instead of using his. There was a faint glow emanating somewhere from the boy's chest. Which shouldn't even be possible.

His wand was bonded to his magical core.

It wasn't bonded to anyone else.

The thing vibrated dangerously in his hand and several students gasped at the way more and more magic was pouring out of the other boy; some people were shouting something at him, but he didn't hear it. The only thing he noticed was Professor Moline's pointed look, who then tried to help Dolohov up.

"Go Potter!"

Harry was disturbed, couldn't even process the words.

"I said  _go_!" Moline called and Harry couldn't do anything else but escape, scampering away as quickly as possible. His wand was still firmly connected to the other core, as if sensing that Harry wanted to leave. But he forced himself to move and threw open the door, leaving a worried professor and a group of terrified students behind.

* * *

Harry was stalking the parameter of the wards surrounding the castle, blocking any thoughts on Dolohov so as not to get distracted. As soon as he'd gotten away, he senses his magic reconnecting with the wand and letting go of Filipp, which was a small blessing. Right now, Moline was probably already on his way to the headmaster, which meant Harry really didn't have much time to lose.

"You should go talk to Karkaroff!" Eileen was hovering at his side, shooting him worried looks.

"I can't."

"Why, Harry? It's not like you have to keep this secret forever."

"And you told me I should be careful, Eileen, so I'm being careful," Harry said venomously. He continued onward, aware of the other boy who was now approaching them.

"Potter, vhat are you-? The others are looking for you," Krum began, staring at Eileen, who seemed to know what was going on. Harry sighed, turning around to greet the Bulgarian.

"I don't have much time to explain this, but I'm glad you came," Harry said, having called him earlier as soon as he'd seen him getting out of class. Rumors were already spreading around and Harry was sure Karkaroff wouldn't waste any time trying to find him.

"You intend to use him as an anchor?" Eileen gaped at Harry, but he drew his wand and pointed it at the wards.

"Do it!"

The old witch sighed heavily, before approaching a very confused Krum, fully aware that once Harry got that stubborn look, there wasn't much people could do about it.

Harry held Hepzibah's journal in his hand, having taken it from his dorm earlier. He was now sensing the magic surrounding it, to his surprise.

It would be helpful for his escape, but he could only use it once he was outside the castle's wards.

They were currently hidden away beneath an Oak tree. Eileen instructed Krum on how to do the transfusion spell, which was a skill the other student seemed to know about, oddly enough.

It was a bit of a gamble trusting someone who only managed to have two successful conversations with Harry so far, but the professor would be the last choice now.

"As soon as I'm gone, pretend you haven't seen me anywhere. The wards will still sense my presence, so Karkaroff will probably keep looking," Harry said, feeling the strain on his magic affecting him with the effort it took to focus on the magic surrounding Durmstrang. It was very old and extremely powerful. The electrifying feeling he usually got when he was very close to a powerful source was running rampant now.

"Done, Harry. We can begin now."

And Krum started chanting something in Old English while pointing his wand at Harry, who in turn was now completely immersed in the magic.

No one has seen them yet, thankfully.

It took another couple of minutes to separate Harry's consciousness from the small piece he would be leaving behind, but with a last incantation Krum succeeded and Eileen nodded in approval.

It was an incredibly odd sensation, though.

Harry lowered his wand and calmly walked forward, his body passing the ancient wards with ease, while another piece of him, someone that looked exactly like him was manifesting on the other side, joining Eileen and Viktor and staring at Harry impassively. Harry quickly instructed the spectre to hide in one of the abandoned corridors, making sure he would not be seen by anyone.

With a tap he activated the portkey that was Hepzibah's journal and threw an apologetic look at the others. He would need to thank Krum for doing that without making much fuss, but he didn't doubt he'd have to answer some of his questions later.

"I'll be back in a couple of hours," he mouthed, before disappearing.

* * *

'Well, this is surprising' Harry thought, inspecting the shop carefully. The room was darkened and dusty, but Harry instantly recognized where he was, confused that he ended up back in Berlin instead of Morocco. Carolina had given him the portkey after all and he didn't think she would be with Gregorovitch now.

A sound of movement from somewhere else signaled that one of the wandmakers or maybe the assistant was present. It didn't matter anyway, since he wouldn't be leaving without answers.

The spectre informed him that he'd found a spot to hide, his words sounding like an echo inside Harry's mind. It wasn't an ideal situation, but hopefully the spell would buy Harry enough time to interrogate the wandmakers.

He tried to calm down somewhat, making his way over to a rickety chair; careful not to move his wand arm too much.

Plopping himself down ungracefully, he started examining his wand more closely, looking for possible changes.

Nothing.

The color and length were still the same; the odd thrumming sensation abating with Harry's disuse. How could this thing possibly use someone else's magic like that? It didn't make any sense.

No, actually nothing made sense.

According to the lore and several laws, it was forbidden to use parts of a Dementor for any magical properties, either wands or potions, but that sensation of having your magic sucked out of you should never happen with a simple piece of wood. None of the books on wandlore had helped him out and the cursed journal wasn't much use either, other than transporting him from one place to another.

"There you are, Mr. Potter!" someone called and Harry gave a jerk, not having heard anything. He stood and turned around to greet his newcomer, surprised that it was Gregorovitch in person, who was now leaning casually against the threshold.

"Mr. Gregorovitch," Harry said, inclining his head slightly. The bearded, elderly wizard gave an amused chuckle in return.

"I've been hoping you would pay me another visit. And it's nice to see you without your dreadful companion," the wandmaker remarked, his tone and general attitude much different from the way he had behaved when Harry first met him.

"Dreadful?" Harry asked. "I assumed Headmaster Karkaroff was a close friend of yours, Sir."

"Friends? Ah yes. Outsiders would see it that way. But in our current society, I don't think you can afford to have friends like him, Mr. Potter."

Gregorovitch observed the boy, noting Harry's physical appearance with detached curiosity. Harry tried to beat down his exhaustion, not wanting to look as weak as he felt, what with all the magic he'd performed today.

"I came to return the wand." Harry decided to be blunt, not wanting to rise to the bait. He didn't need to flaunt his general dislike for the headmaster in front of someone he knew nothing about.

"I'm afraid that's not possible."

"And why not?" Harry glared, fed up with the man's impassivity.

"Because we already told you that your wand has bonded with you and with you only," Gregorovitch remarked.

Harry sat back again, wincing at the sound the chair made. He eyed the other man, not quite convinced of his feeble explanations.

He would have to return soon, preferably before the sun has set.

"If you call draining someone's magic to the point of shutting down completely a bonding, then I'm not exactly happy with it," Harry exclaimed, carding his fingers through his unruly hair in frustration.

And now he got a reaction out of the old wizard. Gleeful eyes were watching his wand and a smirk twisted the man's features.

"So it already started, then. Good, good. I was expecting some resistance, but it's great that your magic is already so in tune with the core," Mykew said, rubbing his ink-stained hands together.

"Look, I'm tired and I just had to escape a nosy headmaster. I kept mum about the wand's properties. So the least you could give me is an explanation, because I honestly can't make sense of it," Harry admitted, his patience gone.

Gregorovitch smiled at that and made his way over to a ratty, black couch. Glancing at the table somewhere to the left, he contemplated how to answer Harry's question.

"Well, I suppose we can start at the beginning," Mykew said, stroking his beard. "The wand you're currently holding is an illegally crafted design. As you probably know, the wand's core in particular is outlawed, and dabbling in magic containing pieces of a Dementor can send you straight to prison," he said and Harry noted his sudden lack of an accent. Apparently, the man had played a role the last time they met.

"So you're in trouble for having created that wand?" Harry asked immediately.

"Well, I'm not, but Ms. Yassine is, of course. You see, she created the wand at a time when such spellcraft served a specific purpose."

Harry caught on where this was going and a sense of foreboding gripped him as he inspected the wand.

"You're referring to a war," Harry said. He could see it now. The way his wand was reacting to dark magic in general and how he had such a hard time controlling it, even as the owner of that wand. It should have been a dead giveaway.

"Not just any war, my boy. The last wizarding war the rise and fall of the Dark Lord," Gregorovitch added. Harry bit his lower lip nervously.

So this was it. No matter how hard he tried to escape his looming fate, somehow all the things connected to him inadvertently pointed him in Voldemort's direction. He held no belief that he could simply disappear off the face of the planet, but this was getting ridiculous. Even resigned to his fate, it seems like nothing ever wanted to turn out the way he wanted it to. A crushing helplessness invaded his thoughts once again and he ruthlessly tried to squash that feeling down.

"We call this wand one of the  _failed experiments_ ," Mykew interjected, neutral expression settling in again. Harry nodded, signaling he'd heard the man and was following the conversation.

"The failed experiments are part of a grander campaign to create the most powerful wands known to mankind." Gregorovitch's tone suggested he didn't think much of that idea. He continued nonetheless. "During the Dark Lord's first rise, the demand for highly skilled wandmakers was very high, and the Dark Lord showed genuine interest in the lore behind it, according to some people."

Harry somehow doubted that. In his imagination Voldemort used whatever tool possible to extend his own power rather than appreciating the magic behind it. Maybe it was a misconception on his part, but the image of a power-hungry war mongrel stuck to him after having read and listened to other people's accounts of the man.

"Did he hire Ms. Yassine do produce these wands for his army?" Harry asked.

"Something like that. Most of us with origins and ties to Dark pureblood families were ordered to equip his men with something more substantial than the British wands from Ollivander, a man who basically sold his wands to all the wizards and witches in Great Britain."

Gregorovitch relaxed a bit, his head slightly inclined.

The room was almost entirely shrouded in darkness now, but with a quick  _lumos_  Harry could once again take in all the knick-knacks that were littering the shop. He couldn't afford to stay for much longer, though, the spectre in his mind now reporting that teachers and prefects were patrolling the school.

Harry hesitated, careful how to word his question. "So, this wand is one of Voldemort's creation or...?"

To Mykew's credit, the old wizard didn't flinch at all or reprimanded him for using the Dark Lord's name. He simply continued to stare impassively at him.

"Wrong, this wand wasn't created by the Dark Lord per se, since he had no idea what kind of ingredients and tools were needed to harness a wizard's power. He was shockingly ignorant on this, despite his careful reassurances." He paused, thinking. "We simply produced wands with cores and wood that were outlawed centuries ago."

"But why? Surely, Ms. Yassine could have refused," Harry asked promptly.

The man snorted.

"And get herself killed? It was either that or instant death and most of us fancy the idea of living," the old man said. "Besides, Carolina had planned on producing a wand without the Ministry's restrictions or general interference for a long time, using the Old Ways to make something that resembled the use of magic from before. It was her choice to simply continue doing that with the blessing of the Dark Lord."

Harry frowned, uncomprehending. "I didn't think she was loyal to the Dark Lord..." he trailed off.

"Loyal?" Gregorovitch let out a cold laugh, not amused at all. "She absolutely hates him."

And now it was Harry's turn to laugh, disbelieving. "Really," he drawled. "I don't think I would hand over valuable weapons to my greatest enemy, unless..."

Unless, you created something that  _was meant_  to overpower the Dark Lord, something that would  _never_  be loyal or choose the Dark Lord to begin with. Harry's thoughts turned ice-cold.

"You see it now, boy?" The man smiled again, delighted at Harry's bewilderment, lips curling into dark amusement.

"The wand's properties can be tampered with. We simply coax the magical items into behaving the way we want them to. But mostly, the properties act of their own accord. All it took was Rowan, the celtic symbol of healing and divine protection, and a Dementor who had no wish to ally itself with the Dark Lord."

Harry caught on. "But how did you communicate with the Dementor? I heard it's almost impossible to make them obey."

"That's another secret of our craft, Potter. You'd have to become a wandmaker yourself to let me teach you the ways in which we communicate with nature and magic itself," Gregorovitch explained.

Harry considered it.

He could readily admit that wandmaking was an overlooked craft, but the sheer power people like Ms. Yassine or even Ollivander had at their disposal. It was no wonder the government restricted what kind of pieces one could use. For a while, Harry suspected that the wizarding world possessed an almost unnatural paranoia against all things powerful or ancient.

It was understandable. For him who was raised by Muggles, joining this community and experiencing all kinds of wonders was a surprise. The amount of possibilities you had as a wizard couldn't compare to the mundane life of a Muggle. But with power came responsibility, no matter how cliché that sounded. Certain people tended to abuse their gifts, going way beyond the limits of magic. And Harry believed in human nature and could understand why the government would place so many restrictions on the people, policing itself so as not to fall back into the Middle Ages where anarchy amongst the wizarding world was a common thing.

That doesn't mean he wasn't curious to test these limits himself.

"Oh, I see what you're thinking, Potter. But forget about it. Your path doesn't align with mine. But we're happy to see you using the wand to the best of your abilities and Carolina is absolutely delighted to know that this particular wand chose the Boy-Who-Lived. Which shouldn't be a surprise to you now."

Harry glowered, wanting to make a point.

"But I can't control it. The wand reacts to other people as well. And it drains me completely!"

"Then force it to obey you, boy," Gregorovitch clarified. "The wand chose you, which means it saw you as someone worthy enough to handle its power. But the effects you're experiencing are simply because you're hesitating; because you're full of doubt. So it's reacting to someone who is not, which is why the wand probably felt drawn to use someone else's magic for a moment, someone who lacked the power, but was easy to influence. And that's why no one can know about it, because a tool like that can turn even a powerless fool into a mindless instrument," he accused.

"Well, I don't know what I'm supposed to do yet and I don't think I'm powerful enough to control this thing."

Mykew sighed, leaning heavily against the couch.

"That is your problem. But it shouldn't be a problem at all. You're Harry Potter, the one who defeated one of the greatest wizards of all time. You have the wizarding world at your feet, boy."

Harry tried to calm his madly beating heart, incensed that everyone was pushing him to do one thing or another while claiming that he was free to do whatever he wanted.

Bullshit.

He wasn't free at all. He was trapped in prophecies and prisoner of an Ex- Death Eater. He had people watching his every move and commenting on it with equal fervor. And he was getting sick of it. He rose, clenching the wand in his hand as if his life depended on it.

"I can destroy it, you know."

"You can't," the old man said. "The wand was designed for the Dark Lord, but it rejected him -as planned- and found itself in your hands. Carolina worked on that outcome and took measures to ensure that no one would be able to get rid of it, especially not the one who was chosen. But you're welcome to try."

And Harry did just that, trying to bend the wood, to make it snap. He even thought about researching wandless magic to destroy it later on.

But nothing happened. It looked like the Rowan was made of steel and no amount of pressure even left a dent on the thing. He thought about throwing it in the trash or leaving it here, but from the old wizard's look he could guess that the stick would find itself back in Harry's dormitory, no matter what.

"Fuck", Harry swore, his hands now hurting more than ever. Gregorovitch took great pleasure in watching his miserable attempts.

"Are you done, Potter?" the wizard crossed his legs, almost bored now.

"Okay, fine. I'll keep the thing, but you could at least tell me how I can make it obey. I don't really want to end up comatose every time I use more complex magic," Harry said, holding the wand up and glaring at it, forcing it to "like him".

"It's speciality is healing and offensive magic. So work with what you have and practice without doubting yourself every single time. The wand senses your hesitation, after all," Mykew explained. "You simply have to become more powerful."

"Right." Harry grabbed Hepzibah's journal and prepared to leave. He knew that this was all the explanation he would get tonight, but there wasn't anything he could do about it.

"Have you read it?" the wizard pointed at Harry's portkey.

"Not exactly," he said, not interested to prolong this conversation.

"Then you should. Carolina has given you some tools to work with."

Harry doubted that the simpering and pitiful thoughts of an old woman lusting after younger boys would help him. But he didn't reply, turning around to leave the shop.

Something disturbing happened, though.

There was a crash from somewhere else, and suddenly he could make out footsteps that were approaching them quickly.

"Do you expect guests," Harry asked, now worried.

"No." Gregorovitch was alarmed, listening to the sounds carefully.

"Did Karkaroff place a trace on you, boy?" He quickly walked forward and grabbed Harry's arm to push him out of the room.

"Eh, I don't think so," Harry whispered, trying to get rid of the man's offending limb.

"You don't think-," the man murmured, incredulous. "Potter, take the backdoor and leave." He pointed at the other end of the room.

"Can't you just cast a spell to disguise me?" Harry asked, but the man shook his head forcefully. And with that Harry left, opening the door and taking the steps down. The old wizard was left behind.

Harry walked quickly across the hallway and opened another door, welcoming the cold air that calmed him down somewhat. He crossed the street, hoping that the people in Gregorovitch's shop wouldn't harm the old man. He didn't really care about him, but he also didn't fancy leaving someone behind to confront a gang of burglars. Besides, he still planned on researching wand lore and possibly interrogating the old goat.

Someone grabbed his neck and forced him to turn around.

Harry could've cursed himself for his carelessness.

"What do we have here?" the masked man jeered and Harry stared, terrified at the being in front of him. He recognized those masks from one of the books. And it was mind-boggling.

Death Eaters.

But how? How did they suddenly...?

"Little boys like you shouldn't be walking alone, all by themselves. Where is your friend, boy?" the tall figure asked, increasing the force with which he held him and making Harry gasp.

"I saw you leaving that shop, so I suggest you tell the truth," The man's dark eyes peered at him from beneath the black and silver mask, inspecting him carefully.

"I-don't know. Let me go!" Harry whispered, trying to break free, his glasses almost slipping down the bridge of his nose. He didn't know what to do at all. He wasn't trained to fight these people. And how did they end up here in Berlin anyway?

"Lies...now tell m-" The man gasped in surprise, looking him over. "You look awfully familiar. Are you P-" he pulled him even closer and Harry could smell the liquor on him.

Harry's arm wiggled free of the man's hold and he did it on instinct. Drawing up his wand, he pointed the tip at the man's neck, panicked but determined to get rid of him. He didn't think about the consequences.

" _Diffindo,_ " he called, and watched in morbid fascination and horror how such a simple spell instantly sliced through the man's neck. Blood sprinkled Harry's clothes and his face and with a last jerky movement, the man fell down, gurgling something incoherently as more and more blood pooled out of the wound.

Harry stepped back, stumbling slightly while his body went numb.

No one was there to help him and with a detached feeling, he realized he had just possibly killed someone.

He'd killed another human being.

And it was so simple, such an  _easy_  way to do it.

He felt like throwing up.

Harry pointed his wand at the man, trying to remember a healing spell. Any spell whatsoever to stop the blood from flowing. Wasn't this thing supposed to be good for healing? He struggled, turning his head to see whether there was anyone else.

"Shit!" he murmured, too late to save his attacker. With a last shuddering breath, the man's eyes glazed over, empty eyes staring at the night's sky from beneath the mask.

Harry stood rigid. Anyone could've seen that. He was now a murderer.

Couldn't the magic be traced back to him?

And fuck, he just  _killed_  someone.

Harry's panic increased tenfold, but he didn't have to wait long, before another sound interrupted the deadly silence.

Someone was clapping, leaning casually against one of the stone walls of a building. The person had appeared out of nowhere, but under the sparse light Harry instantly recognized the features. He paled, a mix of relief and horror invading him at the sight.

"Professor Moline?" he asked quietly.

The man approached him, calmly walking forward, amusement evident in his look as his eyes took in Harry's bloody appearance with an intensity that wasn't normal. But then none of this was normal.

"Bravo, Potter. I didn't think you had it in you," the wizard said, stopping right in front of him.

Harry stared, unable to make sense of this.


	6. Repercussions

The putrid smell of murder clung to him like an infestation, a disease with countless arms that dragged him down to the deepest pits of self-hatred. Harry doubted he would ever be able to get rid of that.

He was still a boy; not even a teenager yet. So how was he supposed to deal with murder?

Harry tightened his hold on the wand, not wanting to let his guard down around the professor who was still eyeing him with amusement. It was a disturbing sight, marring the man's handsome features and turning him into something grotesque.

"Let's get away from here, Potter. It's not safe yet," Moline murmured and urged him to move away from the corpse. Harry stood still, refusing to take another look or obey the wizard.

"How did you find me?" he demanded instead.

The Dark Arts professor simply shrugged and pointed his wand at the carcass of the Death Eater. The man's mask slipped off and revealed the pale and scarred face of the person Harry had killed.

Harry stared at the corpse.

"Walden Macnair," Moline murmured and with a quick nonverbal spell the corpse was incinerated. The blueish flames consumed the evidence, leaving nothing behind other than the lingering smell of charred flesh. With a quick  _scourgify_  even the remaining blood came off easily.

"Nasty man. But you shouldn't feel bad about that trash, Potter," Julian said, looking at Harry and acting as if they were talking about a minor inconvenience. The vulgarity and offhanded remark didn't make him feel any better. But Harry ignored the statement, focusing on a more pressing issue.

"Anyone could've seen that," he whispered, feeling exhausted.

"True," Moline said.

The professor looked around, inspecting the darkened buildings of the neighborhood. No sounds came from Gregorovitch's shop, which wasn't normal. There should've been more commotion, if someone was after the old man.

"Follow me," Moline insisted. And with a last glance at the abandoned shop Harry turned away and used a spell to remove the blood on his face and robes. They quickly turned the corner, disappearing out of sight.

Harry was acutely aware that the professor didn't answer his initial question.

The silence between them felt unnatural, but there was nothing Harry could do now; Moline didn't bother with small talk and the situation was too drastic to fill it with meaningless drivel.

He followed the man, aimlessly walking behind him. The rational part inside him told him quite clearly that he was probably still in shock.

"If you're worried about any magical traces or witnesses, now is not the time," Moline murmured, voice urgent as he quickened his steps, his grey cloak billowing behind him. Harry was forced to run in order to keep up.

 _Walden Macnair_ ; the name was a persistent echo inside his mind. In a way, it would've been easier to deal with it, if Harry hadn't known the man's name. But slapping an identity on the body made his act all the more horrifying.

He could turn himself in, but then all those last months would've been for nothing and he'd most likely be called the next, junior Dark Lord by the public, despite getting rid of a Death Eater. It was even more likely that the public wouldn't believe any claims about the Dark Lord's return or that his followers were running rampant again. They would call him an attention-seeker or lunatic.

He could also try to run, but where would he go? His ties to the wizarding world were fickle at best. He had no resources to fall back on, no friends to help him out. Or he would end up in a wizarding prison, most likely Nurmengard or Azkaban.

And it was a thoughtless move on his part to simply follow Julian around when the man was still acting so suspiciously.

"Fuck," Julian swore and Harry nearly ran into him.

Then he felt it.

The energy that coursed through the area was unmistakable. It trapped them rather effectively.

"Anti-Apparition wards," Moline confirmed, examining the cobblestone ground and searching for something. Harry raised his wand in preparation, not caring how much it would drain him to use more offensive spells at this stage.

Someone was looking for them.

"I can't determine how far the wards extend, but I could try breaking through it."

"Do we have the time for that, sir?" Harry asked.

Moline shook his head. Of course not.

They would have to  _run_.

"Stay close to me," the professor said and Harry's instincts kicked in, readying himself for an eventual fight with Death Eaters or something equally dangerous.

Then he noticed it. The faint voices of several people who were rapidly coming closer, heading in their direction. The professor quickly tapped his wand against Harry's shoulder. Immediately, an odd sensation that felt like eggs being cracked on his head travelled through him. He knew that Moline just cast the Disillusionment Charm, which was a smart thing to do. The older wizard continued twirling his wand around himself, getting invisible as well.

Harry couldn't see him anymore, but that didn't mean he didn't feel the sudden, forceful way in which the professor pushed him against the wall. A cold hand grasped his chin, fingers quickly covering Harry's lips so as to prevent him from making a sound.

Harry didn't dare to breathe...

Not a moment too late, because a group of masked men entered the alleyway, pounding footsteps disrupting their silence.

"He can't just disappear like that," someone shouted.

"I don't know, Jugson."

Harry felt Moline's tension, his fingers digging painfully into him.

"The old fool always had some tricks up his sleeve. I just don't think we should go back empty-handed," the man called Jugson said, fear entering his voice.

"We have to. Call the others," the unknown masked man demanded, passing both the professor and Harry without noticing them.

"Where's Macnair?" a third voice joined them, now standing less than ten feet away from them.

"Who cares? We have to report now," a rough voice barked. Harry watched the masked people closely, noticing the way the other two deferred to the unknown man. He could detect a sort of leadership within this small group and concluded that these people were highly skilled in strategic moves, organized in way that benefited them all. Still, it surprised him that they would take so many people with them just to capture Gregorovitch. Evidently, the old wandmaker had dealt with these people before, which made him a viable threat that these criminals took seriously.

"Did you hear that?" Jugson asked, turning around and looking somewhere to the left of Harry and Julian.

"What?" the leader of the group asked, looking around. Silence met them, but Harry was almost certain they'd be able to hear his heartbeat.

"You're paranoid, Gibbon. Let's go!"

All three of them left the alleyway, and the professor immediately let go of him, but didn't cancel the invisibility charm. Instead he simply took Harry's hand in his calloused one, and led him away.

They didn't dare to run yet.

It took half an hour to reach the end of the perimeter and Harry quickly crossed the Anti-Apparition wards, wordlessly tightening his hold on the professor's arm, before being swept away.

* * *

The first thing Harry did before entering Durmstrang was to inform his spectre of the situation, which took a couple of minutes and a bit of mental exercising that drained him more than it should. The thing had been hiding from everyone. The Dark Arts professor watched silently as Harry merged with his counterpart, no doubt recognizing the magic behind it. Durmstrang's wards weren't triggered by it, but from now on he would have to depend on Moline's decisions. The professor would probably tell the Headmaster everything, so it really didn't matter anymore.

Eileen had reappeared to watch the proceedings, but no words were exchanged between her and her "friend".

"Go back to your dorm, Potter. I will deal with this," Moline said, taking the stairs leading to the headmaster's office. Harry nodded, surprised that he was being left off the hook so easily. He couldn't quite meet the man's eyes. But he nodded and made his way back, Eileen silently trailing after him. No students were bothering him as everyone was already sleeping. And that was a relief.

The portraits watched the young student carefully as he made his way to the first year dorms, head hanging low.

Harry still had no clue how the professor had found him amongst the chaos. It was simply too convenient to turn up right after...he'd done that  _thing_.

The reaction had been less than surprising, though. Harry had learned early on that behind the facade of rationality the man's casual sadism often became blatant in class. How the handsome wizard could possibly be friends with Eileen Prince was beyond him.

Harry closed the door and ignored the ghost who was still eyeing him with that strange look she sometimes got around him. He made his way over to the bathroom; intending to get rid of the dirt that still clung to him, imaginary as it was. Dolohov wasn't there and Harry guessed the teachers probably have taken his roommate to the infirmary.

Once alone, he started stripping off all layers of clothes, not even looking at the garments. He pulled out his wand and tapped it against the faucet.

Thankfully, the house-elf assigned for him had taken the time to give him a new set of pajamas. Pity. Even clean and dressed properly didn't make the disgusting smell of blood and charred flesh disappear.

He should've taken the warnings seriously.

Wasn't Karkaroff the one who had warned him about the consequences and the many outcomes he would deal with once he got involved in the war? That murder and torture was now part of his life simply because his name was Harry Potter?

He'd listened to the warnings, thinking about future outcomes and shrewdly calculating possible scenarios. But knowing these things and actually experiencing them were two completely different things.

He was trying to make more sense of what he'd done, justifying his actions. In that moment, however, it simply  _felt right_  to cast this spell. It was all on him.

Maybe it was easier to claim that his unpredictable wand was responsible for all of it or that it was self-defense and nothing more. But he didn't believe it. Maybe...

Maybe he was just a  _bad_  person. The fact that he was capable to take someone's life like that should be enough evidence.

Harry took a look in the mirror, his eyes locked on the spot where his scar was now visibly standing out against the pale complexion of his skin, looking inflamed.

He knew he wasn't morally good, despite his attempts to hide it and be "better". He grew up stealing money from his relatives, sneaking around and destroying properties when his temper got the best of him. At school, he never bothered to apply himself more than necessary in fear of retribution, easily cultivating the image of a loner instead. He held no respect for adults in general, distrusting anyone who claimed to care about him or his education and family situation. He lied frequently.

Many people would sign these things off as typical behavior of boys his age, but deep down Harry knew he could hurt someone if pushed too far. It made socializing especially difficult for him in the past. Deep down however, he always wanted a friend. And now it was so much worse simply because he had more power at his disposal than before. Handling that kind of power and having the urge to punish people who hurt him was not a good combination. Being famous on top of that made it difficult to find people who didn't care for that aspect of his life.

Harry turned away and left the bathroom, intending to get some rest. He wouldn't be able to sleep anyway. Tonight's events would make sure of that.

He crawled into bed under the watchful eyes of Eileen, not bothering to tell her to go away.

* * *

Sneaking into the infirmary before breakfast posed no problem for him. Karkaroff would probably hunt him down right after classes, but so far no one had mentioned anything. The few people he met in the corridors stayed away from him, regarding him somewhat suspiciously. Harry didn't care.

The heavy scent of antiseptic and various potions invaded his sense of smell, but Harry resolutely made his way over to the single bed that was occupied, straightening his tie and making himself look somewhat presentable. His bloodshot eyes told another story.

The patient seemed to know who was approaching him, though.

"Potter, are you here to gloat?" Dolohov snarked weakly as Harry lifted the white hangings and drew a chair over to the bedside.

"Do I look like I'm gloating?" he shot back and Filipp's eyes widened at that, probably seeing the disheveled state he was in and drawing all the wrong conclusions.

"You look like you're the one who's been robbed off his magic, not me. But I'm not complaining."

Harry watched somewhat dispassionately as the other boy tried to make himself comfortable, fluffing up his pillow.

"I didn't steal your magic," Harry said.

"Certainly felt like it."

Harry sighed, meeting bright blue eyes that were currently pinning him on the spot, accusation and confusion making themselves clear. Harry just wanted to get it over with.

"Look, whatever happened... happened accidentally. I didn't cast some obscure spell on purpose. What happened to you was because of the issues I've been struggling with lately," Harry explained, circumventing the truth.

"And what did you struggle with, Potter?"

"Can't tell," Harry said and Filipp grew even more resentful.

"See, and this is my problem with you," Dolohov exclaimed, crossing his arms. "You never tell me anything, not even the stuff that affects me. And I think I have the right to know what kind of bullshit you're dealing with. Bloody hell, it's not even a week into the term, and you're already in trouble."

"Oh, I didn't know you cared so much?" Harry's voice dripped with sarcasm.

"Care? Potter, I'm fucking living with you. Everything that happens around you will reach me as well, if you haven't noticed."

Harry rolled his eyes.

"Again. We aren't friends." He snorted, pointedly looking away from the baby Death Eater. "I don't owe you anything just because you're living with me. I mean, if that bothers you so much, then talk with the headmaster. Ask for another roommate. Maybe then you won't get caught up in my issues."

"Why are you here, Harry?" Dolohov asked quietly and Harry met his eyes again, surprised.

They stared at each other in silence and Harry took note of the way Filipp seemed to bite his lips nervously. He certainly noticed how the boy was gripping his sheets, tension radiating off him. The moment lasted maybe a single second, and it was kind of surreal to see him letting his guard down so much. Though Harry could only respond in kind, shoulders dropping in defeat. A pained look entered his green eyes.

"I simply wanted to apologize. It really wasn't my intention to...hurt you" Harry said stiffly, but he held the boy's look. Dolohov was obviously perspicacious enough to detect Harry's honesty, even if the Boy-Who-Lived wasn't used to saying sorry and actually meaning it.

"I see."

Nothing more was said between them, but Harry didn't appreciate the passivity and casual dismissal. Why was he not asking for more details? His acceptance of Harry's evasive answer was surprising.

The walls were firmly established between them.

Why it bothered Harry so much was another issue he couldn't figure out.

"You have classes, Potter. Maybe you should go," Dolohov remarked, leaning back. He looked just like Harry felt inside. Harry nodded and stood, intending to leave.

Something caught his eye. The other boy was still clenching his fingers around his sheets, as if trying to shield himself.

_To protect himself from Harry._

And that was just wrong.

There was nothing of that supercilious attitude that Dolohov usually sported around him. No confidence at all. He looked fragile, which was something Harry had never witnessed before. Not to that degree.

"I-" Harry said, shaking his head slightly. And then he did something which was completely out of character for him.

Harry reached out and grasped the boy's hand, carefully making sure that Dolohov's fingers weren't fisting the white material. Instead his own hand curled around the pureblood's limp one, offering comfort.

It was awkward and Filipp's silence spoke volumes. Harry squeezed his hand once and then let go, regretting the action as soon as he'd initiated it.

He stepped away and didn't catch the look of wonder that was crossing the student's face for a second. Before he could shut the door, Dolohov said something.

"You're a good dueller, Potter. Keep it up," the boy remarked.

The corners of Harry's mouth lifted slightly.

* * *

The months grew colder and classes turned out to be more demanding than he initially thought. Harry had received notice that he would attend all advanced classes he sighed up for. Slacking off was therefore not really an option.

Additionally, Karkaroff supervised some of his classes in person and kept an even closer watch on him than ever before.

The whole "incident" in Germany was kept under wraps, and while Harry learned that Moline had never told Karkaroff anything about his murderous streak, the headmaster knew how Harry managed to escape. Even the newspapers told some convoluted story of a robbery in Gregorovitch's shop, leading to the wizard's disappearance. No witnesses had been found, which was another oddity.

After a stern talking and more than a few humiliating insults, Harry hadn't done anything else to displease the vain, old man. Thankfully, Eileen and Krum had been left out of this mess. That didn't mean, however, that the rest of the student body forgot the incident with Dolohov. Rumors floated around, of course. It led to even more isolation, although some people were curious enough to attempt to talk to him. No one was bullying him, though, which was a nice and welcoming effect.

Apparently, all you needed to do in order to be left alone was to display some powerful, mysterious magic. It served Harry just fine.

Halloween came and went without problems, although the pain in Harry's scar seemed to be particularly annoying during that day.

At Durmstrang, people didn't celebrate Halloween in the sense that Muggleborns or Light wizards did. Instead, Samhain ceremonies and festivities were conducted, celebrating the beginning of winter. Bonfires were lit on the open fields surrounding the castle, which was fascinating to witness. Harry especially enjoyed the way students were attempting to jump over the smoke, getting closer and closer to fire without magical protection. Professor Wilkes reprimanded more than a couple of idiots who almost set themselves on fire.

Samhain was a Gaelic festival known to the Muggle world, but wizards of dark ancestry from all over the world seemed to embrace the customs in ways that no Muggle could imagine. Harry had to wear the traditional blood-red Durmstrang robes and he even forced himself to paint intricate runes on his face.

Many people had stared at him that day, more so than usual. Harry rationalized it with the anniversary of the Dark Lord's demise and the death of his parents, although Eileen often shot him knowing smirks that confused the hell out of him.

Dolohov was more subdued, though, treating him cordially. Sometimes he even gave him small, barely perceptible smiles. Harry had often made a point to share some information with him in the last months. Nothing important, but small anecdotes about the type of magic they studied. It led to interesting conversations, although they avoided the more serious topics like loyalties to the Dark or any type of propaganda.

Harry never mentioned the Dark Lord, the prophecy or his encounter with the group of Death Eaters he met in Berlin. They never discussed the headlines in the newspapers, like the never-ending search for Longbottom and the panic in wizarding Britain that increased with every day that passed with no information on Harry's location.

The political ramifications were grave, but Durmstrang's students changed their behavior slowly, no longer treating Harry's presence like a secret they desperately needed to share, but rather enjoying the fact that they were the only ones in Europe who knew about him. Though Harry never doubted that people would sell him out the moment Karkaroff's iron hold on the school loosened.

Harry also enjoyed reading about the different ways in which politicians strove to undermine Dumbledore's influence in the Wizengamot, the high court of law. They used Harry's disappearance to create more internal conflicts, even going so far as to give interviews with the press to publicly denounce Dumbledore, thus swaying the people one way or another. Bribing someone for more information became a common practice.

He often wondered what it would be like to meet Dumbledore face to face, a person who was regarded as the most powerful Light wizard in Europe and known for his many accomplishments in magic and various battles. It would be interesting to observe the old man's reaction to him, considering the way Dumbledore has so far played an important part to influence his life.

The old man would have to wait, for now. Harry still intended to make the best of his current situation, getting stronger to make sure that no one would hold more power over him than necessary. Dark Lords and Light wizards be damned.

Another important observation was his performance in class. Now that he held more knowledge about his wand and the purpose it was originally created for, Harry threw himself into mastering and truly winning the wand's loyalty. Oddly, cold-blooded murder seemed to pave the way for that. Doing magic after the "Berlin disaster" was a much easier affair than before. No magic-stealing accidents happened again.

There was just one thing that Harry regarded as minor inconvenience. Dolohov and Krum seemed to think otherwise.

He slept less and couldn't even stomach proper food, nausea getting a hold of him more often than not. In moments when he was all by himself, he had to take a breath to calm himself down. When students approached him, he often got jumpy or irritated, snapping at them without reason. His temper was always an issue, but it was never that much of problem or something he couldn't manage at all.

It was confusing.

Nightmares were the worst, though.

The name Macnair haunted him to the point where he couldn't even look at himself and not see a twisted being, a monster in his place.

Dolohov usually woke him up, but his remarks weren't helpful at all. And even Krum's insistence on playing Quidditch led to nothing. Harry had discovered earlier that he was a reasonably good flier, at which point Krum had snorted, muttering something unintelligible.

The days got progressively worse.

Harry was currently watching the flames of the bonfire, the light reflected off of his glasses. He was lost in thought.

If he were honest with himself, he would even say that something was definitely wrong with him. To hide his trembling hands, he kept them in his pockets, staring impassively ahead.

Around him people were enjoying themselves, handing out food and initiating various rituals. People were even doing divination, laying out stones around the fire to predict their own demise. Some second year students even asked Harry to join, predicting his death jokingly and making crude references to the Dark Lord.

Harry imagined Voldemort storming the castle and putting these people in their place.

"You're tense," Dolohov said, standing right beside him and staring at the fire.

"Tell me something I don't know," Harry murmured.

Filipp smiled at that.

"Oh, just saying, you're quite good at deceiving yourself," he remarked flippantly.

"Are you my therapist?"

Dolohov's smile grew. He stepped closer to him, blue eyes intently fixed on Harry's face now.

"That would require a more  _intimate_  relationship."

Harry's eyebrows rose and he locked eyes with the taller wizard, ignoring the vociferous crowd in the distance, including the teachers.

The tempestuous magic around them was very easy to sense tonight and Harry took a moment to revel at the feeling of sheer power in the air, how it surrounded him, cloaked him like a protective mantle against the outside world. He watched Dolohov's face, noting absently how the boy's pupils dilated. Harry also could see the small dimples that were giving Filipp a certain softness to his features. In turn, Dolohov's hand reached out, swiping a lock of black hair away from Harry's face, before fingers were starting to trace the pattern of his famous scar. Harry didn't flinch, which surprised him. He could barely stand it when people tried to touch him these days.

"What are you-" Harry asked, but the boy's hand didn't withdraw.

"I pity you, Harry Potter," Filipp whispered, drawing closer. Harry stilled, somewhat shocked, before anger overtook his mind. Pity him? What the hell?

Over Dolohov's shoulder Harry suddenly noticed something that disturbed him even more.

Julian Moline was staring in their direction, his eyes darkened with an inscrutable look as he took in the scene.


	7. Strength and Weakness

_November 14, 1945_

_Caractacus Burke is a dreadful specimen; the kind of man that strikes hard bargains to attain that which does not belong to him. I must confess I remain hesitant to sell my beloved set of Goblin-made armour. Such a rarity. Though he offered an outrageous sum of 500 Galleons for it, it disturbs me greatly to simply hand over valuable silver that is near indestructible. And while it is my belief that those ghastly creatures do not belong to our respectable society, they are useful at times._

_Today marks the second week since I started my negotiations with my lovely Tom who is frequently visiting me on behalf of his employer. He is unspeakably beautiful._

_And his talent is wasted._

_How could this fine individual lower himself as to work for Borgin and Burkes?_

_I have offered him an assistant position, of course. My collection is immeasurable, and it remains quite difficult to catalogue the items I possess. My Tom -humble and grateful as only he could ever be- declined._

_It makes me anxious and fearful of the day he shall depart, leaving me behind. It's a confession I don't want to make. But perhaps I have prolonged these negotiations unnecessarily._

_To be honest, I can't bear to part with him. I can't bear to return to endless days of useless frivolities and sheer loneliness, only spending my days in the company of my house-elf and fools who believe they can tarnish the image of the great descendant of Helga Hufflepuff. Tom Riddle is the only one who respects me. Understands me even._

_He is but the final reward of my collection, the priceless and unique gem that I always craved._

_Today he even brought me flowers. Beautiful Gladioli… Men these days could certainly learn a few things from the younger generation._

_Yes, I desire him._

_I believe that my desire, inappropriate as it is with our age differences, should be fulfilled._

_Of course, he returns my feelings. How could he not?_

_Our beauty completes the painting, the canvas of our eternal and sublime passion for each other. I want to tell him-_

Harry nearly threw the book away after reading that section, but continued nonetheless, forcing himself to focus on the literal garbage the woman had produced a long time ago. Hepzibah Smith was certainly…intense. On and on it went with long detailed descriptions of this Tom Riddle persona, detailing the flawless complexion of the boy's skin, or the way his "delicate, exquisite hands" reached out to caress her own. However, deep down Harry could already see the way this was going. He'd certainly caught on to the symbolism of the various flowers the boy had gifted her with, the subtle manipulations coated in sweet promises. Tom Riddle never promised things that went beyond polite client relationship, keeping his distance while luring her in at the same time. Harry couldn't quite stifle the uneasiness he felt with each entry he read.

Not even the old lady seemed to realize this, although he sometimes got a certain troublesome feeling from the way she was describing Riddle.

From what he learned of Smith, she seemed to collect priceless artifacts, but rarely bothered to learn all there was to know about them, remaining clueless at times or willfully ignorant.

He was nearly through reading the journal, which had contained next to nothing about wands or relations to Dark Lords. She never mentioned the war, which she had lived through. She never mentioned Grindelwald. Instead she chatted endlessly about problems that really didn't seem to matter. Harry also thought it was a bit over the top to claim relation to Helga Hufflepuff over and over again.

The journal couldn't be used as a portkey anymore, so he had no means to contact Mykew again to clarify certain things. Even if he could, it was too risky to try.

He turned the page, almost reaching the end.

_December 10, 1945_

_My beloved Tom requested to see my pride and joy. Hufflepuff's Cup, which I showed to him without hesitation. I wanted, no, needed to impress the young man with my ancestor's background and indeed, it worked. I was delighted._

_Of course, he was also suitable impressed, his stunning eyes intently fixed on the object. However…_

_Something happened today. It was something that I can't really explain. It's rather difficult to grasp._

_I saw a glint in Tom's eyes, which-_

_It frightened me, to be perfectly honest._

_It looked unnatural and turned his kind and beatific features into something I've never seen on him before._

_Slytherin's locket seemed to heighten that impression, which I honestly don't understand. I-_

_I'm alone now._ _Why did this happen? And why am I questioning myself so much?_

_I'm so very tired -_

The next part was completely crossed out and Harry could't decipher it.

_Just minutes ago, I sent an owl to my estranged grand-niece, Carolina._

_It was a choice I wouldn't have made yesterday, but I don't like this feeling I have now. I'm on edge, but my instincts never betrayed me._

_Her family didn't approve of my person or the choices I made with regards to my wealth, but I have fond memories of my time with her, babysitting the girl when others couldn't bother; the priceless gifts I gave to her in hopes to keep contact with my family members. I hope she replies. It's vital that she does._

_Last I heard she planned on eloping with a wealthy Moroccan donor. It's not surprising in the least-_

Again, Harry had a hard time reading that last part. Several words were rewritten, almost illegible. He touched the old parchment, narrowing his eyes in concentration.

_Hokey seems very confused lately. I suppose I must acquire a new house-elf, which is simply too bothersome for me to deal with now. I have other more pressing matters._

_Something else happened today. It added to my stress, but I fear I am getting caught up in politics that go beyond my capabilities._

_December 12, 1945_

_I received a missile from those abrasive and direful men and women who insist on requiring the Dementor's parts I possess. Not even over my dead body shall I give these pieces up. Obviously, their requests are laughable. And, arrogant as these people are, they even provided a list for me to peruse; items such phoenix tears, Acromantula hair and even the teeth of a Basilisk. They demanded I give up my precious preservation of a Chimaera's body and the head of an ancient Sphinx, items which have been in my possession for years._

_Unbelievable._

_These people have no shame, having hounded me for half a year now, in fact right after that dreadful business in Germany, which I don't want to even remember. Really, I have it in mind to send a letter full of Ogre snot in return, just to spite them._

_But there is more to these requests, for it simply is something too disturbing to mention._

_The rumors are turning out to be true, I believe._

_It disgusts me._

_Women and men alike disappear these days, respectable wizards and witches of notorious background, people whose reputations eclipse that of the common man. Of course, someone of my standing might be targeted, which is why I have taken measures to pass on my knowledge, should anything befall me._

_The news remain vague and cause too much panic, detracting from any celebrations that were held in light of Dumbledore's victory this summer. Which is good in a way, I suppose. The hypocrites were getting too comfortable for my tastes. However, I believe that whatever happened to these people involves the men who insist on acquiring parts of my collection._

_It's an unfounded suspicion, but the disappearance of Belvina Burke nee Black caused an even greater concern amongst our community. I heard Herbert Burke was beside himself._

_He loved her dearly._

_Her body or what remained of it was -it's difficult for me to describe…_

_There are signs that point towards this group of people, men who go above and beyond to achieve their goals, whatever these are. Her death is the only clue I have, though._

_I don't want anything to do with this. Nor will I allow my profession and my legacy to fall into their hands-_

_Tom, I wish-_

Tear tracks and spots were all over the parchment as Harry reached the last line; it was nothing more than a random assortment of numbers, which didn't make sense in this context. He tried to find whether there was something missing or if a page has been ripped off, but the journal was in an otherwise good condition, except the last part.

He stared into nothingness, trying to unravel whatever this was about.

It was so much worse than he initially thought, though. Nothing was said about his wand, but the warnings of the old witch rang true.

Whatever these two wandmakers were up to, it obviously involved the same kind of business that these "unknown messengers" have dealt with, hoping to acquire exotic magical items for unknown purposes. Harry didn't think Carolina or Gregorovitch were necessarily bad people or part of a criminal underground organization that kidnapped famous wizards. But that was debatable.

The coincidences were too straightforward. He had noticed their interest in him and the way they had practically thrown his wand at him without so much as a manual to help. He even suspected that Karkaroff's part in the whole game was less than innocent.

The one main clue that stayed on his mind now was the fact that there was an unknown player involved in this whole mess between dark wizards and light ones. A person who was immoral enough to kill people and who was deeply involved in shady business. Someone who probably had a few experts and wandmakers at the ready to do these so called "failed experiments" as Gregorovitch had called them. And it wasn't the Dark Lord.

So where did that leave him now?

Harry packed his bag, making sure that the journal was properly warded.

Saturday was a relatively relaxed affair. Samhain had been a welcoming change, but the students had quickly fallen back into their daily routine, practicing more dark magic and annoying their professors. Harry had stayed out of it for the most part, but tried to be more social over the last couple of weeks. More and more people could now look beyond the facade of the Dark Lord's enemy and they actually tried to get to know him, seeing him as one of them after the bonfire and festivities. He humored them and even enjoyed some of the talks with his peers, especially Krum's fan club.

But when Eileen bluntly told him that something was wrong with him, Harry couldn't really deny it any longer, no matter how comfortable he got over the last couple of months.

He suffered from depression and symptoms which were most likely triggered by the "German disaster". When his lack of appetite and mood started to affect his performance in class, Harry had reluctantly taken the time to evaluate the situation.

The problem was that you couldn't really remain calm or just simply get better when you dealt with something as grave as mental health problems.

When people started to ask if something was wrong or if he needed help, it annoyed him even more, because these idiots just didn't understand it at all.

Harry knew that people meant well, but taking a potion or visiting the infirmary wouldn't solve his issues.

When he confessed his problem to a ghost, he felt more than silly. But Eileen had taken it in stride and even told him she was proud of him for trying to be honest with himself; for tackling his suffering. Just yesterday she had confessed that her son had dealt with similar problems for the most part of his life, and that it wasn't something that Harry should expect to solve easily.

Needless to say, Harry would need to adapt, although he refused to talk to a wizarding equivalent of a therapist. His only remaining drive was the need to get better, and stronger. To master his magic and realize his potential that so many others often talked about.

His need for survival overrode his need to simply disappear. And that was the one thing Harry would hold onto.

He left the deserted third floor corridor and made his way over to the Great Hall.

He'd have to re-read Hepzibah's entries at some point. And he would have a word with Smith's relative, Ms. Yassine, if he ever managed to find the old witch again.

* * *

"Hey Potter, did you hear the news?" another boy asked, leaning forward, almost throwing an entire plate of mashed potatoes on Danielle's lap in the process. She glared at him fiercely.

"What news?" he asked, somewhat bored.

The other boy seemed encouraged, though.

"The latest gossip, of course. Word has it you shacked up with your roommate Dolohov."

Harry nearly spat out his pumpkin juice.

"What?" Danielle said, completely shocked, stabbing her potatoes with too much force.

Some people sniggered while listening in, giving Harry pointed looks. Harry looked around, noticing all these people who were watching him in return, waiting for confirmation.

What the hell?

"Don't listen to him Potter. He's just jealous," Mercia Robards, the girl who was sitting across from him, murmured, her tone dismissive. The other boy glowered at that.

"Eh-," Harry started, but someone else beat him to it.

"Mind your own business, Odgen," another voice cut in and Harry turned to see Dolohov standing right behind him, eyeing the crowd with something akin to disdain.

He was tense.

Harry didn't quite know what to think of the gossip, but it seemed like most people around them seemed to treat his "love affair" as fact.

"Can I have a word with you, Potter? In private, if possible?" Dolohov asked, turning to face him, his expression now impassive. Harry sighed inaudibly, but nodded, now realizing what he'd have to talk about.

Filipp had avoided him in the last weeks, reverting to old behavior around Harry. It was time they talked about this.

Harry quickly stood and left the table, ignoring the whistling and catcalls from his classmates.

They crossed the threshold and Harry caught Krum's look on his way out.

He would have to talk to the third year about certain problems as well. He owed Viktor and the fact that the other boy hasn't demanded answers yet was a huge surprise for Harry. Usually people didn't just risk suspension without asking for details.

They went to an abandoned classroom close to the hall and Harry put up a silencing ward, not quite ready to talk about this embarrassing stuff, certainly not with a potential audience.

He leaned against a table and crossed his arms, waiting for Dolohov to collect himself as well.

The taller boy was scratching his head awkwardly, before standing with his hands on his hips, looking contumacious.

"Well?" Harry asked.

Dolohov rolled his eyes.

"Don't pretend you aren't embarrassed about this, Potter?"

Harry turned away from him. 'So Dolohov wanted to play it the hard way,' he thought.

"I'm not nearly as bothered by this as you are, Filipp." Harry smiled pleasantly, not hiding the edge in his tone. "And if you remember correctly, it was actually you who started this crap," he reminded him.

"And I apologized right after, if you remember," the taller boy shot back, frowning at Harry.

"Which means nothing. You practically molested me in public and then didn't do squat to halt these rumors. One could think you enjoy them," Harry suggested and Dolohov's reaction was instantaneous. He snarled, taking a couple of steps forward.

"You wish, Potter. Besides, that wasn't me molesting you, no matter what you think. I was just messing around, but you're making a bigger deal out of it than it was." He laughed, staring him down. "Or did you think I was really, what? Attracted to you?"

Harry stared in disbelief.

"Attracted? Merlin, no. But then you could at least tell me what this was about!"

"As I said-," Dolohov began. "I was just messing around. To be honest, me approaching you had nothing to do with what you think. I wasn't planning on doing…that."

"You nearly kissed me." Harry scrunched up his nose, not wanting to be reminded of that or his own passive reaction.

"Thank Mordred, I didn't. But there was a reason for my behavior." Filipp suddenly deflated, cringing visibly.

"Yes, I'm all ears," Harry prompted, but Dolohov seemed to struggle with what he wanted to say.

"Fine, Potter. It was…your magic," Filipp said. Harry looked doubtful, not quite seeing the connection.

"My magic."

The other boy noticed Harry's look and smiled again.

"Don't tell me you didn't feel it?" he mumbled. "But then, most people wouldn't, at least not in the beginning." He relaxed a bit.

"I don't understand," Harry admitted, but Dolohov didn't seem deterred.

"You reeked of it, Potter. It was absolutely fantastic." He grinned, staring at Harry in a way that made him uncomfortable.

Filipp sighed after seeing Harry's lack of reaction.

"Too bad I have to explain everything to you. Anyway, you reeked of it. And do you know what happens during Samhain?"

Harry frowned in thought.

"I guess it's when magic becomes the strongest, making itself more visible to people who aren't that sensitive to it," Harry guessed, suddenly seeing the point.

"Exactly," Dolohov beamed at him and it really creeped Harry out.

"Honestly, Potter. You should be proud of yourself. It's extremely rare for magic to manifest itself in that way. And I wasn't the only one who was affected by your presence," he added. "In fact, I guess most people were surprised that you were so in tune with the magic surrounding us, doing all the dark arts stuff a Potter would never do and giving off your own magic in turn," Dolohov finished, looking pleased with the outcome.

"I wasn't doing much," Harry clarified, but Filipp ignored that statement.

"It's not about what you do, but what you feel. If your magic reacts to your surroundings and becomes more noticeable to others in turn, it means that you have the means to access huge amounts of untapped sources. And we dark wizards are very much drawn to that kind of potential," he said.

That statement was foreboding to Harry who really didn't need that kind of attention.

"Don't worry, Potter. You were not the only one. I remember seeing someone from the fifth years who also showed that kind of aura. People were all over her. It happens."

"But what does that mean? That we are the next Dark Lords in the making or what? Because you're not the first one who insinuated something like that," he stated, somewhat befuddled. Filipp watched him intently.

"Well, no. Actually, it only means that you can practice many branches of magic that require a certain intuition and access to them, like warding or healing. Not many people can do that, especially not of the dark kind," Dolohov explained. "And to be perfectly honest, being a Dark Lord is not so much about how much power you have, but about the choices you make and whether our kind would accept someone as a representative for them."

Harry stepped away from the table.

"But Voldemo-"

"Stop saying his name!" Dolohov spat, but Harry ignored him. The whole name issue was completely ridiculous.

" _Voldemort_ ," Harry said pointedly, "didn't become a Dark Lord simply because he made a choice. He became one, because others chose him for his power and ambition. At least, that's what I read."

"Oh really? So you think all it takes for us to follow are nice speeches and magical strength to be persuaded, Potter?"

"Well, yeah, you just admitted you were drawn to my 'potential'," Harry said sarcastically, making air quotes.

Dolohov looked incensed.

"What a load of crap! Now listen to me very closely." Dolohov pointed a finger at him. "Being a lord of any kind isn't just about charisma or power. It's about ideals, morals and what people envision for the future of their kind."

Harry crossed his arms, unimpressed.

"If that's true, the Dark Lord's morals are lacking, if you haven't noticed. The first war was a disaster and not just because of what I did as a baby," Harry said.

"I never said our Dark Lord was an ideal leader. I just said that it takes more than power to become a figurehead," Filipp explained.

Harry noticed how the taller boy seemed oddly tenacious about this and while he could understand the point he was making, the fact that Filipp in some roundabout way dared criticizing his lord was interesting. He'd met these so called Death Eaters, but they behaved like any other person would. They looked like ordinary criminals and they even showed fear. What kind of grand leader inspired fear in his own followers? Of course, he was absolutely convinced Voldemort was bad news for these people, but why they followed this man in the first place was beyond him.

However, he could concede this point, especially since he's never actually met the elusive Dark Lord. Reading about this whole issue was probably much different from real life experiences.

Harry sighed and rubbed his eyes, trying to get rid of his sudden fatigue.

"You haven't shown me any evidence to prove your claim, but do let me know if there's a Dark Lord who works in the best interest of your kind," Harry mocked, waving him off.

Dolohov's expression changed at that, but Harry missed it, turning around and heading for the door.

"And please do something about those rumors. I don't fancy being  _your_ boyfriend. Even in their imagination," said Harry and left the classroom, not looking back.

The next day Harry took some time to practice duelling with Viktor who was always pushing his limits with the repertoire the stoic Bulgarian showed. Most people wouldn't see the point trying to beat someone as skilled as Viktor, but Harry was determined, no matter how many bruises he got or how many times he landed on his ass, completely defeated.

They have found a classroom big enough to train properly, although the stone gargoyles and gruesome portraits didn't create a very inviting atmosphere.

"That last spell vas very good. You're getting better," Krum said while helping the young boy up.

None of this made him feel good about himself, but Harry could appreciate the sentiment.

"I still feel like I'm getting drained from time to time," Harry admitted.

He had filled Krum in on his business with the wand, leaving the more crucial details out, but surprisingly the older boy had taken it in stride, accepting his business for what it was.

Their weekly duels gave Harry much more physical practice, and he even delved deeper into healing, not quite wanting to believe that all it took to gain the wand's obedience was a simple kill.

It was all about determination in the end and the more determined Harry got to defeat his opponent or to heal Krum, getting rid of the more nasty spells he used, the better it worked in the end.

He didn't hear anything about Gregorovitch or Yassine, but he assumed they went into hiding, what with the Dark Lord's forces after them.

"Don't vorry. I suspect in a couple of months you vill be able to beat me," Viktor said and offered one of his rare smiles.

"Well, I hope so. Otherwise none of this would be useful," Harry said, dusting off his robes.

"Practice makes perfect and it's good that you're not relying on your vand to beat me. Many vizards are too arrogant and never use their body to defeat the opponent," Krum explained. Harry agreed with him soundlessly.

"That's my Muggle upbringing. Old habits die hard and I can't imagine just standing around and waving my wand in hopes that something happens."

"Da. Many people do that. You vill have an advantage," Krum said.

They both decided to call it a day and Viktor extended an invitation to hang out with his third year peers, which Harry accepted gladly. He had noticed that his panic attacks and general anxiety tended to disappear if he talked to people in a more friendly environment. Being alone triggered things, which is why Harry decided it would be better to be more social with the right kind of people. He was glad for the opportunity.

Unfortunately, his day was about to turn worse. A student approached them and handed Harry a note, telling him that Karkaroff wanted to see him and that it was urgent.

"Vat does it say?" Krum leaned over Harry while he was reading the note.

"Not much. I have no idea what this is about," Harry said, crumpling the parchment in his hand.

"Be careful, Potter," Krum advised and Harry nodded, knowing very well that the old man liked to play games, only telling him what he deemed important enough for the young wizard to know.

They parted ways and Harry went to the Headmaster's office, politely greeting students on his way.

He reached his destination and a gruff voice told him to enter.

* * *

Harry observed the foe glass, noticing the shadows. None of them were very clear, though. The silence felt uncomfortable to him, but then he never really felt all that comfortable around the older wizard.

"Please read this," Karkaroff said and handed Harry another copy of the Daily Prophet.

What was it with people always forcing him to read all that rubbish?

Harry picked up the paper and scanned the headlines and article on the front page.

His eyes instantly landed on an image of a dead girl lying in a puddle of her own blood. He recognized her.

It was Amy. The Muggle girl who had given him money to survive. In fact, all of her friends he'd seen that night were apparently dead and the article went into detail, describing how these Muggles were murdered. What did get his attention was the fact that the entire wizarding world now knew that these people were "the last ones who had seen Harry Potter."

Just  _great_.

Harry handed back the paper and stared at Karkaroff, green eyes hardening in resolve behind round rimmed glasses.

"Is it true?" Karkaroff asked and Harry nodded, confirming the man's worst thoughts.

"And do you know what that means?" the old man persisted.

"No matter who's behind this, they wouldn't have found out anything useful about me," Harry explained, but Karkaroff scoffed at him.

"Useful? The fact that people might get an idea that you're still alive and well is enough reason to take this seriously. Do you have any idea what's been going on around you, while you were planning your expedition to Germany? Anything at all?"

"Enlighten me, then, sir," Harry voiced biliously.

"Very well, boy. Durmstrang is currently surrounded by spies and the Dark Lord's most trusted are invading key ministry positions. And don't look at me like that, Potter," Karkaroff snarled, noticing Harry's blank stare. "I know just as much as you do -thanks to your foolishness- that the Dark Lord is back. And I have no clue how he achieved that. But his people, my ex-comrades are busy undermining my authority in this school. And someone is after you! Which means they have found out about us!"

"You only have yourself to blame, sir," Harry crossed his legs, undeterred by this development. He'd known for a while that it was stupid to believe he could hide for seven years straight and beyond, if a Dark Lord was after him.

"Very clever, Potter. The thing is, people are requesting to inspect the school's curriculum, which is nothing more than a poor excuse to see you and confirm their suspicions. Family members of Death Eater children asked to visit the school. And some British purebloods have been gallivanting around the Norwegian Ministry, more so than usual. In fact, I just got a request from Yaxley of all people to have a meeting on neutral ground." Karkaroff ended his rant. He was visibly agitated.

"I assume this Yaxley person is a Death Eater. And apparently you can't rely on the secrecy ward if the ministry interferes. But then I've heard the Norwegians are on your side, so I don't really see a problem here," Harry said. Well, he'd heard about it from Moline.

Not a very trustworthy source.

"Your family has been interrogated by the British Ministry and Dumbledore's people," Karkaroff informed him.

Harry paled at that, not quite ready to envision this scenario. The Dursleys probably told the Aurors absolutely everything about him; his habits, his behavior.

"People are onto us, boy, no matter what I do," Karkaroff started. "Therefore we must do something that will pre-empt all attempts to control this situation." He sighed, rubbing the spot between his eyes, before his eyes pinned Harry down with a glare.

"I was hoping you would be stronger by then, ready to defend yourself even against Death Eaters, but we have no other choice. If we can't do it by magical means, we have to do it the legal way until you're ready to kill the Dark Lord," Karkaroff explained.

"And that means…" Harry asked, dreading the answer.

"I'm taking you to see the Norwegian minister and you'll be introduced to the dreary world of politics," the headmaster declared.

Silence reigned in the office and from the corner of his eyes Harry could almost see the shadowy figures in the foe glass getting closer, ready to capture him.

"What?"

"You heard me. You'll be dealing with all that stuff that comes with being the half-blood heir of the Potters, including all the protections your family name provides. And you'll be protected by the law and not just by me," Igor said.

"But I don't have access to anything yet. And even if I start dealing with politics, I'm still underage and technically under British Ministry law. They have all the power over me. Not the Norwegians," Harry reasoned, quickly finding flaws in Karkaroff's plan. He didn't think political power was enough to protect himself from attempts at his life. And while he could appreciate that he would no longer be a prisoner in this school, there were too many things that could go wrong. Merlin, he would be thrown right into the public's eye. One kidnapping attempt was all it took to bring him to Voldemort.

"True, but there's a way out of it," Karkaroff threw in, stroking his beard in thought. "It would be best if you claim fugitive status and renounce your British wizarding citizenship. Remove all your assets and your name from their influence and become a citizen of Norway. This way you'll have an independent ministry as your support system rather than weaklings like Fudge."

Harry tensed.

"I don't think the Dark Lord cares about national borders or ministry issues. If he wants me dead, and he absolutely does, then I will be dead if I'm  _not more powerful than him_ ," Harry exclaimed. But the headmaster seemed unimpressed.

"I didn't survive this long, because I was on my own, Potter. The Norwegian Ministry has always opposed the Dark Lord. I had their trust, so to speak. Now it's up to you to gain it. And if anything, this will buy us enough time to figure out how to kill the Dark Lord," Karkaroff said calmly. "And more importantly, you'll have access to your vaults and any safe houses of the Potters, if they have any. You'll be able to stand on your own feet," the old man said. "I can't give you the full protection you need," he admitted finally.

Harry wavered, not quite sure how to proceed. He needed time to think this through. Karkaroff, noticing his hesitation, narrowed his eyes.

"You'll have until winter break to decide. I can hold off my 'friends' for now. But eventually some people will enter this castle with the intention to find out more about you, if not planning to get you away from my authority. And it won't be safe. Other than me, you have close to no one who could effectively hide you away," the old man said.

"What you need is time and people in positions of power."

Harry nodded.

"I'll think about it." With that Harry stood, leaving the headmaster's office with another burden on his back. Karkaroff's expression changed, showing rare concern for the young boy.

Harry was unsure what to do, as he made his way back to his dorm.

Not only was there a group of people who were experimenting on wizards for some unknown reason, but now he had Voldemort's forces wanting to step foot inside the castle under some pretext. And he wasn't strong enough to fight on his own. Not yet.

On top of that, the British wizarding world was hungry for more news about Harry Potter.

'Well, I'll give them something to chew on', Harry thought grimly. He headed straight for the library, planning on doing more research. He needed to know more about a certain prophecy and how to get access to it.


	8. What's a Dog without a Master

Dinner with the Dark Lord was always an exquisitely tense affair, Yaxley thought morosely.

His Lord didn't make a habit of these events, no doubt preferring to spend his time in a more useful manner. But pureblood etiquette required social gatherings and outlandish events; a habit which their Lord used as an opportunity for more political maneuvering.

It was times like these when Yaxley preferred to observe his fellow comrades and his Lord rather than engaging in small talk. One could never get enough information after all.

Yaxley prided himself on staying alert at all times, not letting himself get comfortable or overly cocky like the rest of his so called "friends".

He didn't think much of them anyway and he was quite aware of the fact that anyone present in this room would sell each other out if given the opportunity to rise in the ranks. Or in the Dark Lord's estimation.

That was the downside to working with murderers, rapists, liars and the scum of their current society. Not that he was any better in that regard, though.

They were currently seated in one of the more lavishly decorated parlors of his ancestor's manor in Wiltshire. As a host, his attentiveness was required, so he made a point to provide whatever was necessary. Mostly it was alcohol for idiots like Goyle. Though he didn't miss Malfoy's looks of veiled disgust when he inspected the tableware. Apparently, nothing was good enough or expensive enough for Lucius even in their Lord's presence.

It's been less than half a year since his Lord's return, but it still felt like yesterday.

In fact, the whole resurrection business really came out of nowhere in his opinion. As one of the lower-ranked Death Eaters he hadn't been privy to the more sensitive information regarding the man's return and even now they were only told the very basics or less.

To be honest, it kind of stung.

Yaxley took a sip of his Brandy, his dark eyes fixed on the pathetic creature Wormtail, who was currently standing in a corner, tending to the Dark Lord's pet Nagini. The fool was quaking in his boots.

How that ugly, dumb man could be such a high-ranked, trusted servant was beyond him.

After his Lord's return, Yaxley had quickly fallen back into his old role of a political advisor, making use of his established contacts in the Ministry to help their cause. It was a slow affair to him.

He'd gotten off with a relatively light punishment compared to others, but Yaxley was aware it would take time and effort to regain the Dark Lord's favor.

They hadn't done all that much anyway.

His eyes zeroed in on the Dark Lord for a second, which wasn't something he normally allowed himself to do. But it was hard to resist. Harder even to pretend it didn't affect him.

The man was  _impressive_. No doubt about that.

There was no other word for that kind of magic and charisma he was exuding, and it reminded Yaxley time and time again that following him was absolutely worth it. So much that he'd die for the cause.

Their Lord was currently going through another report, not paying the slightest bit of attention to his followers, although the Death Eater didn't fool himself for even a second. Yaxley knew perfectly well that the man was aware of all important bits and pieces of conversations that were flowing around him.

The man could be frighteningly observant without being obvious about it. And as a powerful and accomplished Legilimens it took one look to pluck out everything from their minds, including the slightest wisps of treachery.

Yaxley looked down, tightening his hold on his glass.

Yes, that was the price he had to pay for following someone to battle. His business automatically became the Dark Lord's business. No option for privacy left.

A hand clasped his shoulder, startling him from his thoughts.

"You're uncharacteristically silent, Yaxley. Didn't take you for the broody type," Greengrass murmured, only removing his hand when Yaxley pointedly looked at it.

He made a sweeping motion with his arm, after carefully putting down his glass. "Talking to those dimwits is a waste of my time, don't you think?" he mouthed.

"So I'm worth it then? Since you're making an effort now." The portly man chuckled, finding humor in his words.

"Don't flatter yourself," he shot back, rolling his eyes in return.

"I was just wondering. Usually it's Snape who looks like he can't stand our company, but I didn't think you'd try to emulate him."

"Very funny, Greengrass."

The other wizard looked amused, but his expression turned serious after a moment.

"What's Snape doing anyway? Did you hear anything?" he asked, scratching his chin. Greengrass looked like he'd never heard of a razor or spell to shave properly. It wasn't a pleasant sight.

Yaxley took another chance to look at the Dark Lord instead, before replying.

They were all quite good at pretending that they could talk so informally, but Greengrass was just as tense as the rest.

"Probably sucking off Dumbledore as we speak," he said. The other Death Eater grimaced at that.

The rest of the table was engaged in their own conversations, mostly keeping their voices down, mindful of the man at the head of the table. Greengrass was apparently more than bothered by Snape's continuos absence.

"Don't remind me. Snape's really walking a fine line here. He hasn't even bothered to show his face the last time we planned the Berlin attack."

"That's probably, because he has better things to do," Yaxley replied, not very comfortable with the sudden turn in their conversation.

"Like what? Assigning detentions to brats? Scrubbing cauldrons?" He looked skeptical and Yaxley could understand why.

In a way, it was quite disturbing to know that all of them were putting their lives on the line in direct battle, while half-bloods such as Snape remained hidden in the safety of Dumbledore's castle. It didn't seem fair.

"We shouldn't question whatever mission Snape's working on. If our Lord trusts him, that should be enough for us," Yaxley parroted back, not quite believing his own words. He was suddenly acutely aware of piercing, crimson eyes on him. Even Octavian Greengrass stiffened at that, sensing more than a few pairs of eyes on them, eager and even fearful to see what would happen, now that their Lord's attention was on them. Even Lucius looked curious.

"You're right, of course."

They took a moment to calm their racing hearts, waiting for the Dark Lord to focus on the report again.

He didn't.

Desperate to turn this situation around, Yaxley chose to address the first thought that entered his mind.

"Have you heard anything from Macnair?" he asked instead, breathing shakily.

"I guess, you weren't there the last time we talked about this," Octavian mumbled, glad to talk about something else after his faux pas. Yaxley nodded. "I was too busy cleaning up after you in the Ministry," he replied with a low voice.

It was true. He'd missed the reports from last week.

Most of the Death Eaters returned to their conversations when nothing spectacular happened, but the Dark Lord picked up a glass of Whiskey, dismissing the reports in disinterest for now.

"Well, there wasn't much. Most people believe he was captured by the wandmaker," Greengrass said, relaxing a bit when the Dark Lord's attention wavered, crimson eyes observing the amber liquid instead. But Yaxley didn't think they were off the hook yet.

"Really?" he asked, surprised.

And it was surprising. There were several conclusions he'd come to after finding out about Macnair's disappearance in Germany. Kidnapping wasn't the first one and most definitely not the logical choice, considering whom they were dealing with.

"Doubtful?" Octavian asked, raising his thick, prominent eyebrows.

Yaxley took another drink, regaining his control and wondering how to explain this.

"You could say that," he confirmed, putting down his glass again.

"Well?"

They stared at each other, each seemingly lost in thought. Yaxley still felt Lucius' heavy and speculative gaze on them, but he pretended they didn't really have an audience, which was a bit ludicrous. He couldn't help it, though. The whole setting wasn't exactly private.

"It's just odd. If you used your brains, you'd know that there's no way Gregorovitch could've incapacitated Macnair that easily and without leaving traces," Yaxley went on, remembering the reports and strategies he'd read about.

"Jugson and Gibbon were Macnair's backup and they were responsible for keeping an eye on the other side of the building. Gregorovitch on the other hand fled using the front door, so what the hell happened in the back?" he mused. "No witnesses, no nothing. And Walden doesn't strike me as the disloyal type. He wouldn't disappear without a word," he concluded.

Both Gibbon and Jugson weren't here to confirm his speculations, but something was really off about this whole thing. Greengrass frowned.

"You can't know that. Walden was just as stupid as the animals he liked to execute. Maybe he'd gone into the shop and acted on his own. He tended to do that. Jugson said they lost sight of him at some point."

"That doesn't mean much. And honestly, both of them don't have a clue how to follow simple orders. I just think there's more to it than Gregorovitch pulling another one of his stunts," Yaxley said, turning his thoughts on some of the past events and dealings with the wandmaker. The old fool had always been sly, but he'd never been a fighter.

"Do you suggest there was an accomplice?" Greengrass seemed to find that idea even more surreal.

"I didn't say that. I simply think it's foolish to assume this case is so clear-cut. So the best way to deal with it would be consider that we have more enemies than that."

Greengrass smirked at that. "Always so diligent and paranoid, my friend." Yaxley did roll his eyes this time, exasperated and worn out.

"I didn't get my position within the Ministry by doing nothing. You should learn how to watch your back and how to cover all options," he said. It felt odd, giving advice to someone he wasn't close to, but it was also inconvenient to facilitate his comrade's stupidity. Yaxley fully intended to win this war. But they wouldn't win it with people in their midst who didn't have some common sense at least.

Greengrass patted his back, apparently dismissing his seriousness in favor of getting drunk.

Disgusting.

Picking up his own glass, Yaxley wasn't surprised when he felt his Lord's eyes on him again.

He wasn't sure whether this attention was a sign of approval or maybe a clear indication that he'd stepped out of line.

Thankfully, he was saved from further trouble when Rookwood turned to Lucius, engaging the proud man in a conversation that immediately got people talking enthusiastically.

The topic of Karkaroff's dealings always revealed a lot, providing new entertainment for them. Yaxley couldn't help but agree. The traitor was as good as finished.

Soon, Durmstrang and Norway would fall into their hands. And honestly, he really couldn't wait for that to happen. He couldn't wait to see all of Europe bow down to the Dark. The victorious side.

The Dark Lord stood abruptly, turning his back to them and walking over to one of the arched windows, his tall frame seemingly gliding through the room. The lively conversation amongst the Death Eaters immediately stopped.

Yaxley subtly glanced at the man in order to gauge his mood. He couldn't detect anything, though.

His master was dressed in black robes of a very light material. As Yaxley's eyes traveled down the impressive form of the man, he could appreciate it for what it was. The robes were most definitely expensive, no doubt about that; yet so unlike the flashy style Malfoy and Greengrass preferred.

Lord Voldemort remained silent, though, observing the grounds intently.

Yaxley wondered what it was that caught his Lord's attention. Eventually, their master addressed one of them.

"I wonder, Augustus. You seem so eager to witness Igor's downfall." The deceptively calm and low voice of the Dark Lord cut through the silence like a sharp knife.

Rookwood's hitched breath could be heard quite clearly; a traitorous reaction that not many Death Eaters usually allowed themselves to show.

"My Lord?" he inquired.

Even Peter Pettigrew's attention was drawn to Voldemort, temporarily forgetting that he was supposed to watch over a dangerous, carnivorous reptile.

Some people were confused, however. Everybody in the room knew why Rookwood in particular wanted Karkaroff dead.

"You are downright vindictive these days. And yet…" Here, he turned to fix crimson eyes on the spy. Augustus cringed visibly, his pock-marked skin turning sickly pale.

"Yet, it took years for you to act upon it, breaking out of your prison and leaving your comrades behind to join me. And by doing that," the Dark Lord stated darkly. "You've revealed  _more than you should have_."

Yaxley caught on immediately. And he absolutely agreed with his master.

Rookwood, useful as he's been in the past for his contacts with the Unspeakables, effectively and single-handedly ruined any and all chances to strike the Ministry and Azkaban when they were unprepared. His miraculous breakout has been on the cover of the Daily Prophet, headlining the stunt, and despite the Ministry's reassurances that no mass army was currently assembling, people were still frightened. And being scared meant that they had time to prepare mentally if not magically.

On top of that, the idiot did kill a couple of Muggle teenagers when news reached his ears that they had seen Harry Potter on the night the boy hero disappeared.

Whether he wanted to gain his Lord's favor by doing that or not, it was still incredibly stupid. The dead couldn't be tortured for information after all. And Rookwood had none, at least no more than the Aurors did. Crawling back empty-handed and boasting about Karkaroff's imminent demise was a useless maneuver.

"I beg your forgiveness, my Lord," he pleaded. "The Muggles didn't know much and I-"

"Silence!" the Dark Lord hissed, his magic rising and tainting the room with raw power. Yaxley shivered, goosebumps breaking out on his arms.

"You're still useful to me, as of now." Voldemort stepped back from the window and beckoned Nagini to him with a hiss.

"However, I don't accept failure. Your childish vendetta against Igor is unbecoming in light of the recent mission I gave you."

Most Death Eaters were wondering about this, since Augustus apparently had an important task assigned to him that included dealing with his old Department. They didn't know what it was about.

"Yaxley," the Dark Lord said quietly.

"My Lord." He inclined his head. It was never a good thing to be the sole focus of their leader, so he didn't quite manage to look him in the eyes, startled as he was. He did follow Nagini's movements, though, as she wound her heavy body around the man's legs, swiftly reaching his waist. A pale, long finger reached out to stroke the spot under her head.

"I assume Igor didn't bother to reply," the Dark Lord voiced, gazing intently at the serpent.

"No, my Lord. I do know the message was received, but the security around Durmstrang increased and we have no way of breaching the wards," he informed the man.

He was still wondering why he'd been ordered to contact the traitor directly, even going so far as to propose immunity. Lucius saw his bewildered expression and smiled knowingly.

It was irritating.

"And Wilkes?" Voldemort asked lightly, uncaring.

"Unable to talk."

Silence met his statement and Greengrass shot him a curious look. Rookwood remained quiet.

Durmstrang's Potions Master, just like everyone else in that school was bound by the Oath. And they didn't even know if Laurens Wilkes was still on their side.

They had no option left other than outright attacking the castle. And that would automatically declare war on the country, something that their side with its pitiful numbers was still unprepared for. Even with their comrades in Azkaban joining them eventually, they'd be outnumbered. Yaxley wondered about that as well.

The Dark Lord's focus on Durmstrang wasn't unusual, but Norway seemed like a lesser priority than England when it came to gaining a solid power base and more allies.

Naturally, Durmstrang - the only magical school in Europe that focused exclusively on the Dark Arts- was a vital component to make contacts across several countries and establish their empire. But they haven't even managed to infiltrate Fudge's pathetic band of employees yet. With the Dark Lord's return, they had to start from scratch. And this time, the man's priorities seemed off. More so than was normal, excluding the whole Potter business during the end of the First War, of course.

There was more to it.

He knew there was more to it than gaining allies. Yaxley frowned in thought, deeply anxious.

With their Lord's attention elsewhere, Lucius suddenly turned to him.

"You look peeved," he observed, leaning forward.

"Your face tends to do that to people," Yaxley said, bored. Next to him, Greengrass chuckled. The fool was borderline drunk now.

Malfoy made an odd sound in the back of his throat, but persisted nonetheless.

"If you're wondering why you're dealing with Karkaroff so openly, I'm seriously questioning your intelligence, Yaxley," Lucius mocked, watching him with a malicious expression that seemed unnatural on his usually stoic, handsome features.

"Say what you want, Malfoy. Or shut up."

His eyes darted forward to see Nagini hissing contently, enjoying her master's touch. Voldemort's eyes rested on the Malfoy patriarch, though.

"Think for a moment. Once you corner a dog in a dead-end street, it will turn and bite. And Karkaroff's prone to making mistakes under pressure. It'll be easier to surround him once he starts to panic," he explained calmly as he steepled his fingers. Rookwood nodded in agreement and Yaxley could see the point. At some stage, they'd probably manage to force Karkaroff out of hiding.

However, deep down he had an inkling of his Lord's true intent. It seemed irrational and maybe he was wrong.

But apparently, it wasn't the dog that was being targeted.

No, it was someone else.

_The owner._

* * *

"Ich habe einen Hund gesehen…" Harry repeated, not quite sure how it sounded to his ears. Apparently, Danielle found his accent incredibly funny.

"Much better, Potter," she said. Harry didn't think he'd ever get the hang of it, though. German was incredibly difficult to learn and pronunciation was the least of his problems. He was already busy trying to catch up on Latin, which was a necessity in the wizarding world; so that was additional work he could've done without.

Harry sighed, leaning back and stretching his stiff muscles. They've been studying for hours now, but unlike him Danielle was somewhat of a perfectionist. She'd been drilling vocabulary into his head without mercy. It was torture.

"Already giving up?" she teased, closing her book.

The library was almost deserted, but some students were still working on their midterm assignments.

Thankfully, Harry had already finished with that, having only a couple of chapters left to read for Potions. Wilkes was a slave-driver.

So he used the opportunity to do some self-studying, although he wanted nothing more than to fall asleep.

He'd recently taken up the habit to use Calming Draughts. With the anxiety wrecking him constantly, it was almost impossible to fall asleep and not dream of blood on his hands or Death Eaters.

"Yeah, I admit defeat," Harry replied, eyeing the blonde witch with amusement, wiping his expression clear of any signs that he was worried about the dreams.

"How disappointing."

Some people nearby gave them odd looks, but Harry didn't care.

"Well, trashing your expectations is what I do best," he mocked and Danielle smiled in return.

"Expectations, Potter? Like what? Getting yourself a girl- or boyfriend? Or overcoming your star-crossed love for Dolohov?"

Harry snorted.

"I have you for that, love," he murmured. "You're my latest conquest after I got sick of Viktor."

Harry remembered the conversations he had with people over the last week. Really, boarding school was turning out to be nothing more than a petri dish for gossip.

Danielle's eyes became hooded and she inspected him more closely.

"You're not my type. No matter how pretty your face is. There's not enough meat on your bones."

Harry smiled and bowed his head, pushing down his exhaustion for the moment. Pretty face, eh?

"You wound me." He placed his hand upon his chest for good measure.

"Mission accomplished," she said. Her smile was rather infectious.

Honestly, the girl was right. Walking around like a zombie would only hurt in the long run. It wasn't something that a Calming Draught could fix, though. His initial drive to get better has dulled significantly, especially when he was faced with a mountain of tasks and conspiracies. Learning languages initially looked like a nice activity to pass the time, but when Danielle insisted he'd have to learn the hard way instead of cheating with magic, Harry's been swamped with even more pressure. Stuff that he wasn't forced to do, but that seemed important to him anyway.

Then there was also the Prophecy and Harry's incomplete knowledge on it.

It was a bit of an asshole move on his part, but the reason he bothered to get closer to Danielle also had to do with what he planned for next year. He didn't regret it though and it wasn't like his classmate was bothering him more than Dolohov was. In fact, it was the opposite.

Across the table, the blonde girl reached inside her pockets, as if on cue, and unfolded a map. The parchment looked very old and Harry squinted to make out the writing on top of it.

He's been waiting to get his hands on that thing for a while now.

It was the only blueprint of the Department of Mysteries in existence. And Danielle had taken a great risk on her behalf to get it for him, since her mother worked for the German Department of Mysteries and had access to all European departments only under strict supervision. To be honest, Harry didn't think he'd get it at all, but they managed and for that he felt grateful.

"You have one day with it, Potter. I don't want to see my mother getting carted off to Nurmengard," she stated and gripped the paper tightly, not wanting to just hand it over.

Harry nodded and gazed at her in a way that conveyed just how serious he was about it and that he wouldn't break his promise.

"I hope you know what you're doing," she said, understanding his gesture for what it was and somehow giving him the kind of unconditional trust that he'd never give to a person who was a stranger, more or less.

"It'll work out," he said and he convinced himself that it would. With that deal on his mind, he also thought about his classmate's family and why her mother, whom he'd never met, agreed to hand over such an item to her daughter without asking what it was for.

He'd have to find out later.

They both got ready to leave and Harry said his goodbyes, heading for his dorm and ignoring the portraits of drunk witches and wizards who were singing obnoxious Yuletide ballads.

Speaking of Yuletide, the decorating team of the Third Years was busy turning the castle into a makeshift garden full of Holly and Ivy. Even Krum seemed to enjoy the activity and he never enjoyed anything other than Quidditch and working out. The floating candles and torches were certainly impressive, though. Even Harry could admit that, considering that the Headmaster tended to be a bit economical with light.

Having grown up in the Muggle world, Harry liked to think of the fact that he'd never have to celebrate Christmas again, unless he somehow ended up at Hogwarts.

It was a relief in the sense that he didn't have to pretend he was happy while people around him enjoyed the time with their families.

Durmstrang wouldn't be open during the holidays anyway (a fact he welcomed), so all this fuss would eventually be over and done with.

Karkaroff seemed to agree with him on that.

Harry scowled, thinking of the old man's offer and his own decision that would most likely change his life in ways he couldn't predict.

With Yuletide came the impending date of doom with Norway's minister of magic. A person rumored to be one of the Dark Lord's fiercest political opponents. And Karkaroff's benefactor.

Harry hadn't told anyone about this new development, although he bothered to tell the Headmaster of his decision. But he sometimes felt Professor Moline's piercing eyes on him when Karkaroff was close by. Still, it was better to deal with a couple of greedy politicians rather than hiding like a coward at school and praying for a miracle that wouldn't come.

Harry threw open the door to his room and decided to ignore Dolohov who was already busy staring him down in that strange way of his. The Potter heir made sure that the map was pocketed securely, before removing his glasses.

He gathered himself and sat on his bed carefully, intending to go through several meditating exercises that Eileen claimed would help him calm down and guide the flow of his magic through his veins.

Filipp thankfully returned to reading his book on highly advanced Muggle torture and didn't bother him for the rest of the evening.

* * *

"Passable," Wilkes said neutrally, but Harry detected a hint of weariness in the Professor's tone. Today's last class consisted of a practical test in Potions that Harry wasn't sure he would pass. He didn't care, though. Neither did Wilkes, apparently.

Everyone except the Professor's would be leaving the castle today and most people were obviously excited to get the hell out of here.

Harry made sure his vial was labeled correctly before handing it over. He then proceeded to pack his bag and swiftly joined the rest of his classmates on the way out.

Someone tapped him on his shoulder and he turned around.

Daria Haworth, another first year who seemed to move in the same circles as Dolohov nodded and indicated that he should follow. Once they were outside, the dark-skinned girl handed him a note and he immediately recognized Karkaroff's scrawl.

"I don't know what you're up to, Potter, but let's hope for your sake it isn't as bad as some people made it out to be," she murmured and there was a hint of worry in her voice that he couldn't make sense of.

Harry shrugged. He had enough of people talking behind his back.

Daria backed away slightly, but shot him a curious look, hesitating a bit.

"It's just... I didn't take you for the silent follower type," she elaborated and Harry couldn't help but roll his eyes at this, having heard that accusation already from others.

"My business with Karkaroff is just that. My business," he said. "So I'd appreciate it if you told your friends not to concoct ridiculous gossip about me."

"Oh, so he bites. That's more like it." Daria smiled and turned away from him. Before leaving though, she smirked. "I expect great things from you. Being chained to that man doesn't really suit you at all. So you better don't disappoint." With that she left.

Harry frowned, but quickly turned his attention back to the note. He didn't have time for his classmate's nonsense.

As expected, they'd be leaving in a couple of hours. Harry crumpled the parchment in his hand and decided to go get changed, his mind already firmly recounting all he knew about the Ministry of Magic and Norway's leader.

Somehow he felt like he was walking into a trap.


	9. The Captive's Way

Harry carefully hid his wand under the sleeve of his robes, making sure the wand holster wasn't visible.

"Let's get this over with," Harry murmured mostly to himself and quickly left his dorm to meet up with Karkaroff outside the castle.

Durmstrang was mostly deserted now. Almost everyone had left to get back to their families, including the teachers. Even Professor Moline hadn't bothered to stay, although from what Harry knew, the man had no extended family left.

Harry stepped outside, ignoring one of the ghosts who waved him goodbye as he passed through the door.

Weird.

It was freezing cold and he was glad his robes were charmed to keep him warm.

Harry flexed his fingers nervously, hoping that today's revelations wouldn't add to the ever-growing pile of Boy-Who-Lived-related worries. Though he could defend himself properly this time and wouldn't have to fight against his own wand.

He approached Karkaroff quietly, mindful of the man's assessing gaze. The old man nodded in approval at Harry's attire, once he managed to get a good look. Harry didn't acknowledge it. It wasn't like he was doing the old man a favor anyway. There were more important issues to deal with.

"Are there many Death Eaters staking out your position?" he asked curiously, catching the dark frown in Karkaroff's expression. The old fool looked contemplative and alert. But as far as Harry knew, they would Apparate within the castle's wards and wouldn't have to deal with any Dark Lordish spies who were probably waiting outside, eagerly searching for a way to get in.

Karkaroff offered his hand.

"They come and go. But they can't see anything and they wouldn't be able to cross the barrier even with their own family members in here asking for it," the headmaster explained.

Well, that made sense, but it didn't make him feel any better.

"And they've been doing it for how long now?" Harry pushed.

"Not long enough for us to take more drastic measures."

What a non-answer.

Harry honestly thought that becoming a Ministry ward and revealing this whole mess to outsiders could definitely be called  _drastic_. But he led it slide and grabbed the old man's hand.

* * *

This was another trip he'd reluctantly joined, but nevertheless could appreciate despite the grave circumstances.

In the last couple of months he'd come in contact with some important wizarding communities in Europe and now he could count Oslo to it, although there wasn't much sightseeing involved in any case.

Durmstrang was located in the northernmost region of Norway, so the trip to Oslo was less than pleasant in terms of distance. Karkaroff, however, was proficient in long distance and inter-continental Apparition, from what Harry had learned. The man was quite the escape artist.

He let go of Karkaroff's arm and carefully inspected the area.

They have appeared right in the middle of the Ministry's entrance hall from the looks of it. Harry turned his head and instantly recognized the layout from the vivid descriptions in one of the books about Norway's politics.

The Ministry of Magic was located in a hidden part of Oslo City Hall, which was the political and administrative heart for Muggles. Within walking distance he could even reach the Royal Palace.

Harry gave a knowing smile once his eyes took in the sheer affluence of this place.

It was all about appearances and status in the end.

Huge paintings covered the whole walls, depicting old Norse Mythology and stories Harry couldn't make sense of at first glance.

An intriguing picture that was located right in front of him showed wizards and witches building a house together, the moving figures stacking up stones and clay side by side with other creatures, like goblins and Veela. It was highly unusual.

"I take it you like this one," a rough voice spoke from behind him and Harry quickly averted his gaze. It was easy to get distracted in this place.

Harry noticed the Auror standing right next to Karkaroff, who was looking disgruntled and impatient.

He nodded and quickly offered his hand to the man, not wanting to appear impolite. If he wanted to get something out of this whole mess, it was best to just play along for now.

"Yes, it's quite amazing," said Harry and the other man grasped his hand, shaking it firmly.

"It is, Mr. Potter. It is." The Auror bowed in proper pure-blood custom, giving Harry a secretive smile in return and then asked them follow him. They turned left, opening a door that was almost indistinguishable from the wall. It was covered in ornaments and drawings.

It took quite a while to reach the end of one of the corridors where the meeting would take place, but Harry's sharp gaze focused on the twists and turns, trying to remember the way out. Karkaroff seemed to know this place quite well though, wandering down the corridors as if on autopilot. Harry figured that after his trial the man had been a frequent visitor in the Ministry.

Lamentably, there wasn't much time to focus on the spectacular paintings.

The Auror announced their arrival and Harry gathered himself mentally and physically. He'd either get something out of this deal, preferably some sort of political protection, or he'd get the hell out of here.

* * *

Everything they said about her was absolutely true in Harry's opinion.

The headmaster and the Potter heir were currently seated in plush armchairs across from the Minister who was calmly returning their looks with one of her own, amusement evident in her expression.

Minister Marit Farnes represented both wealth, stubbornness and determination in the political sphere, moving effortlessly through opposing circles and charming even her fiercest critics with well-placed arguments and a cunning smile. Needless to say, Fudge didn't hold a candle to her and it showed.

Norway's magical economy was striving, while England was on its way to bankruptcy and corruption.

The Minister decided to break the silence and Harry's eyes danced quickly from one corner to another. He didn't really want to meet her eyes, having read that Farnes was proficient in Legilimency.

"I was honestly surprised when Igor contacted me and admitted to committing a crime so easily," said the stoic woman, her fingers tapping against the surface of the polished desk.

"You know why I did it, Marit," Karkaroff said, before taking a sip from his tea. Shifting slightly, Harry watched closely how the old man became tense under her scrutiny, fingers wrapping around the porcelain in a manner that was just a bit off.

Perhaps the old goat was sensing a threat. It was something to think about.

"And you presume too much and know next to nothing. I didn't expect to see my country involved in a war we didn't want on our doorstep so soon. So don't you think it's quite presumptuous to kidnap a famous child, enroll it to Durmstrang and then wash your hands of the problem when it gets too difficult to handle?"

Karkaroff bristled, but remained silent, which was something Harry could give him credit for. She'd just effectively pinpointed down the issue and didn't waste any time with explanations, belittling the man for his decisions instead.

Harry decided to step in. Not for the headmaster's sake. But for his own.

"I'm sorry if my presence caused too much problems for you," said the boy, looking somewhere to the left.

"Oh, Mr. Potter. We shouldn't exchange meaningless reassurances. I don't believe you would care what your presence entails in a country you're unfamiliar with, surrounded by people you probably don't even trust," she shot back, her gaze boring into him knowingly.

"And now who's the one presuming things?" Harry said, smiling sharply. It was a new experience, talking to someone who attempted to guess his motives beforehand and was treating him like an adult.

"Boy," Karkaroff snarled, but Farnes held up a hand.

"Very good, Potter."

Harry rolled his eyes. Obviously, the Minister was trying to get a rise out of him in order to plan her next move. Too bad he didn't feel like accommodating her. People who tried to manipulate him right from the start were easy to deal with, especially the ones that did it so boldly.

"Since you're so eager to get to the point, Minister, I'll let you know that I came here willingly and in exchange for refuge since my current guardian-," he glanced sideways at Karkaroff, who remained motionless - "isn't able to give me the protection I need," explained Harry calmly, leaning forward a bit. His teacup was left untouched.

Farnes swiped a lock of blonde hair away from her face.

"Talking about stating the obvious," she murmured, and Harry's eyebrows rose in surprise. She was treating Karkaroff like he wasn't even in the room.

"It's gotten a bit troublesome," Harry admitted, shrugging.

Evidently, this was the breaking point for the man as well, but before he could spit out an insult, another Auror came into the room and swiftly grabbed the headmaster to lead him out.

"If you can't calm down, it's best if you wait outside," she offered dismissively.

"I'm his guard-," he hissed.

"You're his nothing, Igor. Legally, you're not his magical guardian or parent. You're his headmaster and all dealings you have with Mr. Potter should be school-related. The fact that you took him away from Britain adds to your lack of credibility and that's why we will have a talk again once my business with your student is over," she added and with that Karkaroff was led away, sputtering indignantly all the way out.

"He gets all grumpy these days," she mumbled, before turning her attention back to Harry again. He couldn't quite decide if being alone with her was a good situation or not.

"So you're seeking asylum, because you're being threatened in Britain. And you have no guardians left to protect you, correct?" asked Farnes.

"I suppose."

The Minister nodded, before taking out a file from the pile of documents that were stacked on her desk.

"And that threat includes a newly resurrected Dark Lord and the pressure of the public you're facing at home plus the fact that you ran away from your Muggle caretakers," she stated rather than asking and Harry was surprised that she apparently had no trouble believing Voldemort was back, unlike some other people. There were no credible news of the Dark Lord's return, despite the attack in Germany. Everything went back to a rumor mill on the streets and Dumbledore's public and very vocal insistence, but Ms. Farnes seemed untroubled by it. Even more interesting, she never asked about his home life at the Dursleys.

"Those are good enough reasons for me to grant you asylum legally, but you'd be a ward of the ministry from now on and it would be incredibly difficult to keep the information out of the public. You're bound to be discovered at some point, Mr. Potter. And I hope you're aware of that."

She opened the file and quickly signed a document.

"How long?" Harry asked and she caught on, raising her head to meet his gaze. But thankfully, no attempts at reading his mind were made, as far as he could tell.

"Maybe a year, two at the most. Fortunately for you, there's a way you can escape early notice if you change citizenship. But it's a rather long-winded process and there will be a time when the English will find out. That's not something any of us can prevent."

Harry sighed, rubbing his forehead, before slumping down in his chair. Normally, he wouldn't show that sort of weakness in front of someone he just met, but this time it was simply unavoidable. Things were spinning out of control, no matter how tightly he held the reins.

"Well, that's better than what I have now," he admitted and the Minister nodded, showing rare sympathy.

"Of course, there's the trouble that comes with granting your wish, considering the political circumstances," she added, and Harry knew they'd be playing with open cards now.

"I know, but to be honest-," Harry paused, lips forming a thin line, before continuing, "your country is infested with Death Eaters or sympathizers for the cause, so it's not a problem that can be dealt with by staying neutral. And Durmstrang isn't just Karkaroff's responsibility. The fact that he's useful to you might've caused some problems anyway, what with him being a traitor and all that," Harry informed.

It seems he hit the nail on the head. As soon as the words left his mouth, the Minister straightened her back and regarded him more seriously.

"You're quite right," she admitted, showing her own moment of vulnerability. "But the issue with Igor's protection is less complicated than yours. Depending on the outcome, we're prepared to face whatever the Dark Lord throws at us."

Harry frowned.

"I didn't say Norway would stay out of the war forever. That's simply impossible for us, Mr. Potter. It doesn't make much of a difference if you're here or not, because the Dark Lord won't stop at Britain once he gains more power. He will be  _everywhere_. Just like Grindelwald was," she clarified, smiling bitterly.

"But we'll discuss this at a later stage." She handed him all the papers that were necessary for taking refuge. The young wizard took a quick look, but then shrinked the file and stored it away safely.

Harry pressed the pad of his thumb against his bottom lip, thinking deeply about something that bothered him. This was going way too easily.

"What do you want in exchange for my safety and your secrecy?" he demanded. She grinned in return, her open expression showing approval for Harry's attitude.

"Nothing much. To be honest, you became my responsibility the moment you appeared on Norway's soil and that's a problem I never intended to run away from." Harry snorted, unable to hide his disbelief, but the Minister wasn't concerned. "Needless to say, Karkaroff's actions became a minor inconvenience but also an opportunity for me to make bargains with the European Wizarding Union that I otherwise wouldn't be able to make. I hope you can understand that."

Harry's fists curled in displeasure.

"I'm a tool for you to gain more power."

She smirked.

"Don't act so surprised. You knew that, Mr. Potter. I don't believe you're naive enough to assume that your own dealings don't affect the other party by ways of association. But I'm giving you the curtesy of honesty and that's more than you would get from the likes of the English. And to be frank, most people would still see you as nothing more than an  _11 years old boy looking for guidance_ ," said Farnes.

True. Harry knew that and whatever the woman intended for him in exchange most likely involved some act of political loyalty on his part. Having the Savior's blessings, no matter his age, was good PR, after all. That's why London was in such an uproar over his disappearance. Not because they cared about him as a person.

It still rattled him, though; to be surrounded by people who never had his wellbeing in mind. Harry sighed internally. He supposed that's what it was like having no family and friends to rely on. It hurt, no matter how much he pretended it didn't.

His gaze hardened in resolve.

"Well?" he asked airily. Farnes chuckled in delight and leaned forward as well, meeting his eyes head on.

"Don't worry. It's not a life sentence on your part or anything that requires your total submission. I'm simply asking you to get more involved in my part of work, Mr. Potter."

Harry paused, thinking over her words.

"Yeah, I got that. Headmaster Karkaroff assumed it'd be easier for me once I become a legal citizen, but I doubt my father's name would work in your high court of law or any other department. The Potters are still English," he explained, licking his dry lips.

The Minister nodded in understanding. "The extend of your involvement with our party depends on what the Potters have done in the past. It'd be best if you get your way around your financial situation and your obligations as an heir and successor to your ancient line, before I fully introduce you to my circle."

Harry gazed at the clock in the back of the room. Despite his feelings on the matter, he wanted to get more influence on his own and if that required some more underhanded dealings and politics, he was prepared to follow through.

He desperately needed more time.

"Once you start this kind of work, you'll be able to get your own power base and influence regardless of your status as a hero. I think it's a sensible request and works for both us, since it's in my best interest to have an ally who can stand on his own feet during the war." With that she stood and with a wave of her wand the teacups disappeared.

"I've asked a representative of Gringotts to meet up with you, but it isn't safe for you to meet up with them outside the Ministry. So Blordak was kind enough to come here. You'll be meeting him shortly," said the witch and Harry nodded, leaning back in his chair. He'd finally get access to his own money.

"I'll be seeing you later, Mr. Potter. As of now, I think I need to speak with your stubborn headmaster. You can wait here," she said and made her way over to the door, giving him a small smile before turning around.

"Thank you," Harry said, closing his eyes.

"No need to thank me. Besides-," she paused, her hand on the door handle. "Lily Potter would be very proud to see you now. So  _grown up_ ," she added and Harry jolted upwards, surprised. But before he could say anything, the door was closed and he was left alone.

* * *

Goblins were exhausting.

Harry signed the last piece of parchment, before handing it back to Blordak who in turn gave him the key to his trust vault and several other keys that granted him access to his properties.

Apparently, he was filthy rich and James Potter had investments left that Harry could take over if he wanted to.

Most of the stuff was headache-inducing. And he still didn't quite have the grip on the jargon and fancy words that coated all the official documents, so he'd need to train himself in order to be able to avoid blackmail and the kind of deals that left you bankrupt in the end.

Interestingly enough, James had campaigned for the rights of several dark creatures, most prominently werewolves and giants. Despite his meager business attempts and youthful inexperience, he managed to establish important contacts and even traded with people who were looked down upon by Light wizards. This was surprising to Harry, but it didn't mean he necessarily condemned his father for it. The opposite, in fact.

He knew next to nothing about his family and this kind of insight made him feel to closer to the man in some strange way. He smiled bitterly, after reading the accounts of his father's plight on behalf of one Remus Lupin. Harry sensed the deep respect and friendship James Potter felt for his friend in the letters and diary entries his father had left behind.

Moreover, it was fascinating to get his mother's side of the story as well. Lily singlehandedly managed to raise her own status by selling potions to dark creatures in need and inventing charms for healing purposes, for instance spells designed to mend fragile bones after painful transformations and fights with other werewolves. Her published journals weren't popular at all in the wizarding community, but she'd gained respect from several werewolf clans and packs all over Europe for her dedicated work; a feat that not many witches or wizards could claim, considering how much they despised dark creatures in general.

Nobody had ever written about this in the official books about the Potters and from what Harry knew his family was mostly remembered for their "dedication against the Dark Lord" and brave resistance in the face of danger.

So much propaganda on both sides of the war...

Harry felt nauseous. How deeply immoral and wrong this society acted by twisting facts and acting like everything was so black and white.

Harry's turbulent emotions left him in a state of unease that somehow seemed to affect the goblin who was staring at him as if waiting for a magical explosion.

"That will be all, Mr. Potter. It was a pleasure doing business with you," Blordak said warily and Harry said his goodbyes, his mind elsewhere.

After he was left alone, Harry tried to calm down, readjusting his breathing pattern like Eileen has taught him.

He had several opportunities left and different ways to go, but besides planning to get this blasted prophecy and training for war, he would also have to manage his account without drawing too much attention to the fact that he was even in Norway.

That would be an almost impossible thing to do, because he couldn't just go around and tell everybody he demanded a secrecy vow before dealing with them. Harry still wondered how Farnes wanted to go about this without putting up a sign that basically said "Harry Potter is with us, welcome and enjoy your stay".

He was so absorbed in his thoughts, he almost dismissed the alarm going off inside the building.

An amplified voice he recognized as Farnes', was saying something in Norwegian that sounded like a warning. Harry quickly drew his wand and made his way over to the door.

Voices could be heard outside and someone said something like "terrorist" in English, which was all the warning Harry needed to understand that something was deeply wrong. The footsteps bypassed his room.

Merlin, he couldn't go a day without attracting trouble.

Tiptoeing around the entrance he quickly cast a charm to silence his own steps.

His paranoia acted up.

" _Liberictum_ " Harry chanted and his wand sang in his hand approvingly. The spell partially disillusioned him, but unlike the other charm, he wouldn't simply blend in with his surroundings like a chameleon; he would dematerialize himself for a short period of time. It was a dark version and easier to learn, but also an imperfect spell, because he could be revealed if he moved too quickly.

Opening the door swiftly, he then used a Point-Me variation to find Karkaroff and swore mentally when the spell came up with nothing.

Just great. The headmaster was either dead or left the premises without Harry. Just bloody perfect.

Another group of Aurors came his way and Harry quickly pressed himself up against a tapestry hanging on the wall. All of them were ready for battle, wands drawn and rushing to get to the center of whatever was going on. With sharp reflexes, Harry turned the other way, trying to remember the layout and the entrance hall from where they had come. He needed to find the Minister or preferably a fireplace that he could use to get back to Durmstrang.

An explosion reverberated through the dimly-lit corridors, the sound quickly followed by more shouting and spells that triggered the wards of the building. People were dueling fiercely.

He turned to the right, mindful of the body he had to step over. He recognized the vacant face of the Auror who had first led them to the meeting room earlier. He hadn't been very lucky.

It was a sickening sight.

But it either meant the "terrorists" had bypassed him already or he was heading straight for the epicenter of the fight. In that case, Harry couldn't afford to waste more time.

And then he came upon something he wished he hadn't seen at all. He reached the entrance hall and the numerous fireplaces that were his only gateway to freedom.

Not anymore.

All access was blocked off and there were groups of people struggling to Apparate away.

The nondescript, hooded figures attacking these people resembled Death Eaters, yet not and Harry stood motionless, wand pointed at the nearest source of trouble.

Ingenious.

The Dark Lord had publicly decided to attack the heart of the country without declaring it a Death Eater attack. He was playing on Fudge's assumption that this was a ragtag group of criminals just wanting to cause mayhem all over Europe.

And yet, the man was  _after something_. But what?

Harry froze. It really couldn't be. Someone must have fed him sensitive information about Harry's location without violating Karkaroff's vow. Or hell, maybe Karkaroff did it himself. But that didn't make any sense.

He didn't have much time to linger and try to solve this, though. Harry quickly deflected a blood-boiling curse that was aimed at the Death Eater fighting closest to them instead. He focused on the matter at hand, assessing the situation.

The Aurors weren't hesitant to use their enemies' weapons against them, which was surprising but also quite clever. Another Death Eater must've seen the odd sight of something invisible intercepting the spell, because he hoisted himself upward from his position and headed straight for Harry.

Good.

Harry marked the spot beneath his feet with a spell that wasn't visible to the naked eye, murmuring the incantation quickly. Then he ran, twisting and dodging the fights and marking several spots repeatedly, before reaching the entrance to the Ministry. He could technically try to force his way through the wards, but he didn't have much time for that either and he couldn't Apparate yet. His lips formed the word to trigger his spell over and over again, which paralyzed both Death Eaters and Aurors whenever they came in contact with the place he'd marked. His wand pushed him, compelled him to do  _more_.

"Someone is invisible! Watch out!" a Death Eater shouted and Harry snorted, adjusting his stance slightly.

How disappointing.

Harry grimaced at the lack of efficiency these people exhibited. No wonder, the Dark Lord never managed to conquer Fudge's power domain, if those idiots were all Voldemort had at his disposal.

More shouts were heard and confusion halted some of the more intense battles, which was just plain stupid. Harry pointed his wand at another group of people, and black smoke quickly began to obscure their sight. His action must've been seen by another person again, because he saw a Death Eater making his way forward steadily, ignoring the smoke, eyes fixed on him despite not seeing anything.

Perfect!

Harry smiled and before the Death Eater managed to reach him, Harry twisted around, casting another spell to hide their location while the bubble began to trap both him and the Death Eater inside. No one would be able to see the blurring image, but people would definitely start attacking the spot.

His own invisibility was now draining away, but it didn't matter anymore. He'd made his choice.

With another last move, he grabbed the man's mask, so unlike the usual Death Eater attire, and ripped it off, revealing the handsome face of a prominent pure-blood aristocrat he'd seen in the newspapers.

Lucius Malfoy was staring right back at him, his platinum blond hair in disarray as he took in the sight of Harry James Potter becoming visible again.

"Hello, there," Harry greeted lightly, gripping the man's forearm where he knew the mark was located. His scar reacted to it.

He had the option to bring the man along with him to Durmstrang, but that wasn't a good choice considering Karkaroff's whereabouts and his actions today.

Option two it was.

"You-? Potter?" Malfoy exclaimed, his shock distracting him for a moment and that was exactly what Harry counted on.

" _Imperio._ "

Grey eyes became glassy and unfocused and Harry quickly acted before the bubble could dissolve.

'Take us to Potter Manor, Wiltshire,' the boy commanded, focusing on the mental image and exact location that had been described in the documents.

And with another jerky move Lucius grabbed him tightly and they both disappeared from the Ministry hall, leaving confused Death Eaters and Aurors behind.

Harry secretly hoped that the Minister somehow made it out.

* * *

Unfortunately, his decision caused more problems than he initially thought.

He was currently standing in front of a beautiful manor with a notorious and unresponsive Death Eater at his side and two adoring house-elves waiting for him, welcoming the Potter heir back home.

Merry fucking Christmas, indeed.


	10. Tit for Tat

The Manor was in perfect condition. It was situated on a hill. The dark, grey stone walls were barren of any moss that usually decorated the old buildings of several wealthy pure-blood families in England. An ornate fountain in the center of the front lawn rounded up the look. As Harry made his way to the entrance hall, followed by a silent and imperioed Death Eater, he couldn't help but notice that this could've been  _his home_ all along. And the Dursleys would most definitely kill for that kind of wealth.

A warm, but foreign feeling suddenly overtook him and one of the house-elves nodded in satisfaction.

"The wards have recognized Master Potter's return. Master will now be able to adjust them, if you like," the tiny creature said blithely.

Harry focused on the invasive magic that was now taking a backseat somewhere in his subconsciousness. He'd have to take a closer look at the wards and how much protection this manor truly provided.

When the odd group entered the building, Harry started to look around carefully, noticing the wooden panels along the corridors, the huge chandelier illuminating this place, and the somewhat homey atmosphere that clung to the manor.

The house-elves turned to him expectantly and introduced themselves quickly. The 'taller' of the two with the floppy ears named Libby bowed lowly, giving Harry an adoring look. The other one was called Alby and Harry didn't know what to make of the look on the creature's face.

"Would you like a tour of the manor, Master Harry Potter?" Alby inquired and Harry grimaced.

"Just Harry is fine," he waved off, ignoring the scandalized looks from the elves. "Could I perhaps postpone that for later? I'm kind of starving-," he added, rubbing his stomach awkwardly. The Ministry excitement had gotten to him and now most of the adrenaline and anticipation was quickly wearing off, leaving him drained.

Come to think of it, the Imperius curse wouldn't hold forever, which is why he needed to do something about his "guest".

"Could you perhaps make certain that my prisoner doesn't run away? Just to make sure that he's stripped off anything that could be used as a weapon," he asked, concentrating on the tiny thread that linked him to Malfoy's mind. Yep. He was about to lose control.

Alby's eyes widened, but both of them understood quickly and with a small plop Lucius Malfoy disappeared, leaving Harry and Libby behind.

"If you could follow me Mast-, Harry," the house-elf added and Harry nodded.

The stairs led into a gallery of sorts. The most impressive furniture was the long polished wooden table, which could be set out for dozens of people.

Harry was unceremoniously led to the head of the table and before long he had a feast spread out in front of him that could easily sustain twelve Dudleys.

He sighed, grabbing a plate of mashed potatoes. This Christmas break was already proving to be much different from anything he'd experienced before. Whether it was good or bad, he couldn't tell. Not yet anyway.

* * *

"I can't," he grumbled, stretching out his legs.

"What do you mean you can't, boy? Eat the damn meatballs," the portrait of an elderly man groused. Several other portraits seemed to agree with him, murmuring quietly and observing Harry, as if he had somehow personally offended them. And why the hell were his ancestors commenting on his eating habits? He'd have to get rid of them soon.

"Eat them yourself, if you want." He stood and quickly shuffled out of the room, cutting off any protests from his annoying ancestors.

No wonder James didn't want to live here.

Anyway, he had more important things to do.

Harry went downstairs with the house-elves' help. He could imagine that this manor possessed the basic equipments of any magical houses for rich pure-bloods. Maybe even torture chambers or a well-equipped potions lab. He'd have to see it for himself.

In fact, he needed a potion for what he planned to do, since it wouldn't be easy to properly interrogate a Death Eater like Malfoy without some additional help.

Harry's eyes hardened as soon as he reached the door to Malfoy's temporary 'residence'.

He stepped inside the cold and dreary cell, which didn't really look like one since there were no bars or anything that resembled a loo or bed in there. No basic furniture or windows decorated the room. Instead a single chair occupied by a certain blonde was placed right in the center. There was no magical barrier or anything preventing Lucius Malfoy from moving, but Harry inspected the bindings that were wrapped around the man's ankles, wrists and his upper torso.

At first, people would maybe think that the Malfoy patriarch was looking like a grand king who was simply making himself comfortable on his throne, but Harry eyed the tense posture of the man -subtle as it was- , saw the balled hands and the tiny layer of perspiration on the man's forehead. Light blond hair cascaded down the man's shoulders and Harry was admittedly a bit fascinated by it. This man looked the type who bathed in luxury and liked to show it off. On Karkaroff it seemed fake, but Malfoy carried it surprisingly well.

Lucius was blindfolded and Harry quickly stepped forward in order to pull the material off. His fingertips grazed warm and smooth skin and he leaned forward slightly.

Hot breath fanned against his cheek and Lucius slowly lifted his head, meeting his gaze with grey eyes that showed a glimmer of cold calculation.

They assessed each other for a moment, before Harry stepped away, mindful of the man's every expression.

"So-," said a calm and low voice, "the Boy-Who-Lived has finally graced me with his presence."

Harry cocked his head to the side and quickly lifted his hand to adjust his glasses. He decided to remain silent.

Lucius in turn seemed just as attentive as he was, looking at him from head to toe and most likely analyzing Harry's body language to determine any weakness he could use as a way out. Harry privately thought that people like him were a bit too obvious with the way they wanted to gain an advantage in situations like these. It was easy to act on it.

Harry smiled and shrugged in response.

It worked.

Malfoy snorted, obviously finding Harry's cheeky attitude not very threatening. The man relaxed a bit.

"So like your father, but I'm not surprised. Tell me, Potter. How is it that the icon of the Light is so well-versed in one of the Unforgivables?" asked the pure-blood, getting straight to the point for once.

"Hm, I'm sure you know all about that already, Mr. Malfoy," said Harry lightly. Lucius caught on, but hedged a bit.

"I'm not quite certain what you're implying." The tone was deceptively pleasant, but Harry wasn't here to play games.

"Really? Then your deductive skills are obviously rusty and I'm asking myself why your Master, a man rumored to be a genius, bothers to deal with the likes of you," Harry said, insulting him while at the same time making his doubts about Malfoy's motives known to the other.

For a moment it looked like the man would react in anger, but then he settled down, chuckling quietly to himself.

"So Durmstrang is corrupting you already," he voiced, licking his lips. "If only Dumbledore could see it. And the wizarding world...they will be less than pleased once they find out you practice the Dark Arts, Potter."

"But  _you are_ , pleased that is. Not to mention your Lord-," said Harry, stroking his chin absently. "I wonder how much he truly knows about me..."

The effect was instantaneous. Harry could've laughed out loud.

"Much as you believe you're the center of the universe, you're not." Lucius tested out the bindings on his wrists.

"Good, so it wasn't me that was targeted. But thanks for confirming it," Harry said calmly, putting his hands in his pockets and stepping forward again.

Too easy.

Lucius snapped his mouth shut, looking grim at once, but his eyes shone, something weird entering his gaze that Harry tried and failed to understand.

"Karkaroff," Harry started. "It was him you guys were after. Because there's no way you could've known I would be at the Ministry today, unless it was him who told you," he added. "Which he didn't."

His suspicions turned out right upon seeing the man's closed-off expression. But Lucius didn't say anything more, which is why Harry decided that the real session should start now. With a snap of his fingers, Alby appeared, carrying a vial with a clear, water-like substance.

It was either this or the Imperius curse.

Harry technically could've cast another Imperius, but it was too draining to hold it for more than a couple of minutes and he didn't think he could quite resist his wand's call for more blood yet. Not after today. On top of that, he wasn't powerful or experienced enough to use other new curses to manipulate the man's will, although Professor Moline had done his best to teach the students a variety of gruesome spells in the last couple of months, including two of the Unforgivables. Legilimency was the last option, but it something he'd have to learn in the distant future.

Veritaserum it is, then.

The older wizard recognized the substance instantly and his eyes widened in surprise and alarm; maybe because Harry resorted to do something like that. In any case, it was too late.

Alby helped stopping the man's struggle and Harry forced three drops down, making the wizard swallow. There was something oddly freeing about abandoning his morals for once to get what he wanted.

Grey eyes turned unfocused and Harry started with a couple of test questions after dismissing Alby. All of them worked to his satisfaction and the potion did its job, despite being out-dated.

"Good. Now tell me, Mr. Malfoy. How did you find out about me studying at Durmstrang?" he asked, crossing his arms.

There was no visible sign of distress and the man answered robotically.

"It was merely a suspicion on our part. Igor Karkaroff tightened all security around the school to an unreasonable degree and roughly at the same time when your disappearance became known to us. We weren't quite sure, though."

Harry didn't know whether that was actually good news or not. The Death Eaters apparently acted on a hunch. But perhaps it wasn't so surprising, considering all the business with the prophecy and their master's paranoia to eliminate any problems.

"Why is Karkaroff your target. Is it because of his betrayal?" he asked promptly. Again, no visible reaction.

"Karkaroff aims to acquire certain items he has been searching for in a while. These items could assist in defeating our cause and today's mission was to obtain them by using his connection to Norway's Minister and capturing him at the same time," said Malfoy and Harry stared in disbelief.

"What?"

"Karkaroff aims to-," Lucius began but Harry quickly stopped him, holding up a hand, his mind whirling with thoughts on the newest piece of information.

The old fool was looking for something? Something that was connected to Norway's Minister and that he wanted to get? But then why did he take him along?

Why did he use the excuse that Harry wasn't safe anymore and needed the Ministry's help?

Unless...

"Why did Karkaroff take me along to obtain the items, whatever that is?" Malfoy seemed to hesitate answering this one, although he was still out of it.

"I-am not sure. We didn't know you would be with him today-," he explained.

"Take a guess then," Harry snapped impatiently and Lucius bowed his head slightly, blond hair partially hiding his expression.

"I believe the Minister is in a key position to hand over the weapons, but in order to do so she must have wanted something in return from him. Something that he had and could give up eventually for the sake of getting something even more powerful. Perhaps...they made a deal, which means you'd be-,"

"The  _decoy_..." Harry murmured, numb to everything.

He could've applauded the old man for that performance. Truly.

All that crap about making him more powerful and using him as a tool to defeat the Dark Lord and then going on and on about making Harry financially and politically independent for his sake. Bloody hell. The headmaster must've thought he was the perfect trade-off right from the start.

For what though? And why did the Minister think Harry was more worth than the stuff Karkaroff wanted?

"What are those items or weapons that you want?" he asked promptly. At this Lucius seemed to struggle visibly, biting his lips hard, but the potion seemed to do its work regardless of the wizard's iron will.

"A collection of extremely powerful wands created a long time ago for the purpose of strengthening someone's magical core," the man said and then almost looked like he wanted to swallow his tongue and take the words back.

_Wands..._

Of course. Of fucking course. Harry could've slapped himself. It seemed Lucius was talking about Yassine's and Gregorovitch's shady work and Merlin knows who else was involved in that secrecy. And that was just priceless, because the Dark Lord's problems could be solved by killing two birds with one stone. Getting the traitor and undoing the wandmakers' work at once.

Fuck, Voldemort  _was good_.

And he didn't even have to do much.

Harry had to readjust his thinking rather quickly from now on. The documents he'd received earlier weighted a ton in his pocket, now that he knew just how much Norway's minister was involved in whatever dealings against the Dark Lord went on. It looked like in some roundabout way all these people he'd met shared some kind of connection, but still acted independently. Gregorovitch's distrust of Karkaroff was proof of that, no matter how friendly they acted around each other. And Harry was stuck in between, getting pushed around.

But he still had a chance to do it on his own. The prophecy. That was something he wouldn't lose sight of, no matter how almighty the wand he obtained really was. In the end, information was all that mattered to him. Harry stepped closer and leaned forward, his hands landing on the armrests of Lucius' chair.

"Change of topic, Mr. Malfoy." Harry smiled, watching the glazed eyes of the older wizard in amusement. "Tell me, did one of the Death Eaters kill the Muggles I met after leaving my relatives?"

He didn't have to wait long for an answer.

"Yes," the patriarch confirmed.

"And did you find my relatives?" he insisted. A shake of the head made Harry sigh in relief.

"No, Albus Dumbledore is currently protecting your Muggle relatives, making it impossible for us to capture them," Lucius said monotonously.

Harry nodded, thinking it was better for Hogwarts' Headmaster to deal with them. He couldn't stomach the thought of Death Eaters or even the Dark Lord ruffling inside their minds and finding out any weaknesses from Harry's past that they could use against him. And while he didn't know much about Dumbledore, the old man was probably not the type to exploit the information in the same way a person like Karkaroff would've done. Besides, Harry was determined to get to the top. And any dirt on his childhood wouldn't really prevent him from getting there anyway. Better safe than sorry, though.

"Okay. So what of the Dark Lord? When and how did he get resurrected?"

This time the effect was powerful. Lucius started to shake, gripping the armrest tightly. More sweat broke out on his skin and Harry retreated, frowning.

"The Dark Lord-" he started again, hesitating a bit. "how did he get resurrected. And when?"

"I-. My L-" Lucius stuttered and his shaking intensified, shudders racing through his body.

Okay, this was not normal. Resisting the potion was possible if one knew Occlumency well enough, but this was most definitely not normal.

"I-" Lucius started, shaking his head furiously and then he moaned, looking like he was in agony.

"Neville Longbottom. Did the Dark Lord kill Longbottom to get resurrected?" Harry tried, but suddenly Lucius let out a scream and Harry paled. He could sense the dark, oppressive magic in the air now and something was definitely interfering with the potion, something that the wizard wasn't doing by himself.

Harry eyed the man, quickly trying to find the source of the invasive magic and his green eyes narrowed in thought. He quickly grabbed the man's arm, making sure that the bindings would hold and then he pulled at the wizard's sleeve.

Just as he thought.

The ugly tattoo that marked every Death Eater was inflamed and pitch black, dark veins spreading out under Malfoy's skin as if attacking his nervous system. Merlin, Voldemort must've used some sort of enforced secrecy vow with that mark, making sure that even his enemies couldn't get any information out of the Death Eaters. Which made sense, but it also meant a possible death sentence for them if they were captured. Harry had no idea how to counteract the complex magic, though. So there was no other option.

"Alby," Harry called and the house-elf popped in silently. "Could you get the antidote for me?" he requested, holding the man's arms in place. Lucius's condition worsened by the second.

"Yes, Master Harry," the elf replied and quickly disappeared and reappeared, holding another vial that he handed over. Alby had trouble holding Lucius in place, but together they managed to force the man to drink it.

As predicted, the symptoms disappeared gradually and Harry thanked the elf, who nodded and disappeared again, leaving him with an exhausted Death Eater behind. Said Death Eater was regaining focus slowly.

"There, there. Mr. Malfoy. That wasn't so bad, was it?" Harry patted the man's head in a patronizing gesture, taking his time to examine the texture of the man's hair.

Lucius raised his head again and bored his eyes into Harry. He wasn't angry, though, which was a surprise.

"It seems I underestimated you, Potter," he admitted quietly.

"Only because I wanted you to," Harry replied, drawing back. The silence between them was a comfortable one, despite the man's weakened condition.

"And yet, you just admitted to yourself that you've been nothing but a pawn until now. But somehow it doesn't seem to bother you, unless this is just another act," the dark wizard murmured in a faint voice, examining him as if he were an interesting and exotic lab rat.

"You're catching on." Harry chuckled bitterly, honest with himself for once in front of the blonde. His hands carded through unruly, black hair nervously. "Of course it  _bothers_  me. I already knew why I was attending Durmstrang in the first place, but it doesn't mean I was happy with the situation. Besides, I should've seen that one coming," he explained, shifting forward.

"Indeed. Which brings us to something else," the wizard mentioned, unmoved. "You seem to know surprisingly much, and yet you're not running to Dumbledore, as most people would think. Instead you're surrounded by dark wizards and witches, Potter."

"You're talking about morality," Harry deadpanned.

"I'm talking about the way you immerse yourself in something that has nothing to do with you. You're not a dark wizard," the man stated the obvious, making Harry curious to see where this was going.

"Or you shouldn't be. There wasn't a single Potter who belonged to us or was interested in dark magic. And yet, here you are. Doing the opposite and fraternizing with people that are on the hit list of many politicians in Fudge's Ministry. I'm wondering..." Lucius trailed off, stretching his tired muscles as much as he could in his position.

"Now you're being stupid again," Harry shot back, lips curling upward in humor.

"Excuse me?"

The boy watched the Death Eater closely, enjoying the baffled expression that somehow changed the man's hard and masculine features to something more pleasant.

"You're assuming that someone's choices are dictated by his bloodline or the family he comes from," he said, "or that I'm a Potter, which means I must do x and avoid y, because my father and grandfather did the same. Well, let me tell you something." Harry leaned forward again. Lucius tensed at the proximity.

"I do," he whispered, "whatever I want."

The Death Eater closed his eyes, turning his head away.

Harry chuckled and then quickly crossed the room and reached for the door, leaving the poor, confused man to his thoughts.

Independence. That would be hard concept to swallow for a pure-blood hardliner like him.

* * *

The next morning came and went without much trouble. Harry for once enjoyed the luxury of having his own master bedroom and the privacy he now had in spades. Yesterday, he managed to get some of the more important books and his clothes, including a certain journal out of his dorm at Durmstrang with Mindy's help. Now he had no reason to return until the end of Winter break, which suited him just fine.

The house-elf also informed him that Julian Moline, Wilkes and several other professors were back and that Karkaroff was now officially missing, which meant Julian would take over as headmaster. Admittedly, it was nerve-wrecking to think that someone was out there who knew more than he should have. Someone who had been using him to such an extend. And on top of that, he had a suspicious Dark Arts professor in control of the school. If Moline wanted, he could just as well dissolve the secrecy vows and make it public right away that Harry was studying there. Which would be inconvenient.

Harry read the headlines of today's Daily Prophet, ignoring the sleepy mumblings of the portraits. He bit his lower lip, searching for clues, but all the paper reported was the terrorist attack on the Ministry with causalities on the Aurors' side. Apparently, Harry's tricks hadn't worked in the end, and all Death Eaters had managed to escape.

According to the news, Fudge didn't seem to care much, but Minister Farnes had been sighted at the parliament building. It was good to know that Harry would be able to contact her in the end, despite her business with Igor.

No items had been stolen and the departments were busy cleaning up the mess the Death Eaters had left behind.

The best thing however was that no word on Harry's involvement leaked through.

'I wonder what the old bastard is planning now,' he thought, turning the page. As frustrating as it was to think about the deal, he didn't think Karkaroff had been successful in getting what he wanted. At least, Harry hoped so.

Another smaller article revealed that some sort of object called 'The Philosopher's Stone' has been destroyed by Nicolas Flamel with the help of Albus Dumbledore.

Harry tried to recall what the stone was, but he couldn't remember much.

"Hey, does anyone of you know what the Philosopher's Stone is?" Harry asked, looking around. His eyes settled on the portrait of a witch that looked like she somehow escaped from the Renaissance period. She smiled pleasantly at him, nodding in affirmation.

"Yes, Harry. It's created with the help of alchemy. And I quote ' _The ancient study of alchemy is concerned with making the Philosopher's Stone, a legendary substance with astonishing powers. The Stone will transform any metal into pure gold. It also produces the Elixir of Life, which will make the drinker immortal,'"_ she concluded, frowning slightly.

"The Elixir of Life... Huh. That's probably something that could've been useful to the Dark Lord," Harry said to no one. Several people hissed sharply.

"Don't be so blasé about it, boy. Even attempting to use the Elixir of Life is absolutely immoral. Not to mention all the other hideous ways in which you can attain immortality," a young man right next to the portrait of the Renaissance witch warned, waving his arms.

"But didn't Flamel and his wife frequently drink from it to extend their lifespan? I was still alive when that ignominious fool made the papers with his invention," another unknown ancestor said coldly.

Harry re-read the line.

"They've been alive for over six centuries. And both of them decided to die, apparently."

That must have been really strange, Harry thought. The official word was that it was too dangerous to keep the stone intact, but Harry couldn't quite wrap his mind around that reasoning. Voldemort was already back and he didn't need the stone, if he had ways to ensure that he couldn't be killed. So why now?

Libby appeared suddenly, holding another tray and Harry nodded, letting her know that it was alright to feed their prisoner. Lucius behaved like a high-maintenance prince, but Harry wasn't inclined to starve him. Some humility would be a good lesson, though.

Suddenly a strange sensation warned him that someone was quickly approaching the manor's wards, seeking entrance. It wasn't a human, though, but an owl and Harry decided to find out who would want to write him now.

A common barn owl brought a letter and Harry quickly opened the window to let her in, a bit confused when she left as soon as the message was delivered.

He drew his wand and cast a series of charms to locate any nasty curses or spells that would activate as soon as he touched the thing.

His eyes widened in surprise.

"Why would Krum write me now?"

The message was rather short and to the point, only saying that this letter couldn't be traced to Harry and warning him at the same time to stay where he was now. News must have reached the older student.

Harry didn't plan on leaving anyway, but it was a bit surprising to know that people would willingly want to write him. But Krum didn't expect a message in return, which is why Harry left it at that. He'd talk to the Bulgarian at some other point.

'But I do need an owl, I guess," Harry thought. The manor was equipped with an Owlery, but since there hasn't been a single Potter living in this manor since 1800 something, the elves didn't have the means to keep track of any pets inside the house.

He'd have to order one, especially because he couldn't go outside and visit Diagon Alley. It was simply too much of a risk in England.

Harry left the dining room and returned to the semi-dungeon after having made sure that Lucius's wand was safely stored away. The pretentious wizard's been carrying that thing inside his cane...

He approached the man who was dressed in the same robes as yesterday and was still bound tightly to the chair. If Harry concentrated, he could make out the smell of sweat and blood. Body odor. Just perfect.

"Ugh, this is disgusting," Harry bit out, keeping his distance.

"It seems we can agree on something, Potter," Lucius snarled, obviously fed up with his treatment, to Harry's amusement.

He shrugged. "Oh, don't blame me, old man. What did you expect. A back massage? Five-Course Dinner?"

"I should give you a course in keeping prisoners," the blonde said, shifting in his seat.

"Pretty sure you've learned a few tricks from your master," Harry shot back, smiling a bit. "How does the Almighty Lord of all Darkness treat his guests? Do they get regular meals?"

"No, they'd be dead," the man sniped.

"Charming."

Harry sighed, rubbing his cheek, before throwing up his hands in defeat. "Fine, we'll be spending Christmas together. might as well make the best of it," Harry said and Lucius looked like the reminder of holidays personally offended him.

"Okay, Saturnalia it is. I don't care for mistletoes and all that stuff anyway," he added and then asked for his house-elves. It would be difficult to let the man move on his own, but a quick order to incapacitate him by any means necessary -if he tried to escape- settled that down.

Eventually, he'd let Lucius go at some point, after erasing his memories of course. But for now they would enjoy some eggnog.

Before that, the man needed a bath. It was urgent.

'I feel like a parent,' Harry thought, sighing heavily.

* * *

New Year's Eve marked the birthday of one Tom Marvolo Riddle. Not that Harry knew about that or Voldemort's real name, but his scar seemed to hurt on that day more than usual. He was rubbing the spot above his eyebrow repeatedly and even Lucius remarked on his strange behavior. He'd had days in the past, when the mark bothered him incessantly, but usually it was accompanied by a foreign feeling of anger and impatience. Tonight, there was a heaviness inside him that didn't really belong there.

As for his guest...

The blond wizard had endured more than enough humiliation on his own, with the way he was constantly shadowed by Harry's loyal house-elves, but they were currently seated in the living room, only a small coffee table separating them. It was enjoyable for once. The silence between them didn't bother the Potter heir much, because in the last couple of days he managed to glean a couple of things from the man. Things that Lucius most likely didn't want him to know.

His not so steadfast loyalty to Voldemort, for example.

Oh, Lucius was good, certainly. He often talked about the glorious ways of the Dark and how a new era was approaching soon and would free them all. But behind the hollow words, Harry often detected a sense of bitterness that shouldn't be there.

There was no doubt Malfoy was loyal to his kind and detested Muggles more than anything. He spouted pure-blood propaganda on a daily basis and remained stoic and aloof at most times, like any true Slytherin.

But it was all a façade, a mask that Malfoy carried well, but never quite managed to make his own.

Moreover, he stared. And more than was necessary. Grey eyes followed him absolutely everywhere, analyzing, planning and correcting first impressions. It unsettled the younger wizard, but he didn't bring it up.

The fireplace gave off a gentle warmth and Harry drew back his legs, resting his chin on his knees. It was Lucius who broke first.

"Karkaroff hasn't been found yet," he informed and Harry let the words settle in. Of course the Death Eaters didn't manage yet. In any case, both of them would've felt some sort of reaction coming from their respective marks, if such a thing happened.

"Professor Moline will take care of everything, I'm sure," Harry said, referring to the change at Durmstrang without making it obvious. After all, students weren't allowed to talk about the school other than the most basic things.

However, the reaction coming from Malfoy was instantaneous.

"Julian Moline?" he asked, gaping. And that was a very unusual expression on the wizard's face. Harry turned to him, not quite comprehending the look.

He nodded slightly, but the blonde shook his head fiercely.

"That's impossible, Potter. And how do you know about him anyway?" he asked quickly, putting down his glass of wine.

"Does it matter?" Harry said eyebrows rising in surprise. The other man looked angry for a second.

"Of course it does. Because you couldn't have met the man-." Harry frowned, holding up a hand. "And why's that?"

Malfoy's lips thinned and there was a strange expression on his face when his grey eyes met Harry's.

"The man is dead. Had been for more than 20 years now. And I was the only witness," Lucius replied, watching Harry's face.

Harry stared, silent.

If that was true, then  _who_  was that person currently masquerading as a dead man?


	11. Non Compos Mentis

He stood by the fireplace, watching the crackling flames as they consumed the log hungrily. It must have been more than a couple of years since the last time anybody had used it. On the mantel stood a miniature version of a lion, a moving, bronze figurine that paced back and forth, as if protecting his cub from invisible enemies. Occasionally, the figurine would let out a threatening, but silent roar.

The warmth inside the room was pleasant, but he was too distracted to take much comfort in it. Instead, Harry was constantly mindful of the other occupant in the room.

"Well, why don't you elaborate?" he asked finally, his back still turned to the man. Hence, he didn't see the way grey eyes narrowed sharply, nor the obvious distaste that briefly crossed the man's expression.

"I don't quite see why I should, Potter," said the Death Eater. His grey eyes watched as Harry's shoulders stiffened, taking delight in such a weakness.

Harry turned sharply and crossed his arms.

"You have some nerve. But you're not in the position to make any bargains with me, Mr. Malfoy," he stated, holding the man's gaze.

"Really? And here I thought we were getting so much  _closer_ ," Lucius mocked, picking up his glass again.

The man's nonchalance was irritating and his behavior spoke of someone who didn't feel intimidated at all. 'It's probably my own fault,' Harry thought. He shouldn't have given the blond wizard so much leeway during his stay here. And yet, he didn't think he'd get more useful information out of him if he dosed him with Veritaserum for the rest of his stay. Besides, the stash of useful potions at the Potter manor was limited, according to the house-elves.

Harry drew his wand.

Malfoy eyed the movement, but a lipless smile was the only reaction Harry got in return.

"Again, I must commend you for your excellent use of the Imperius curse. I didn't think your Dark Arts teacher would go as far as to teach first year brats how to use them. It's an uncommon procedure."

Harry snorted. "You'd know more about that than I do, since it looks like you're quite familiar with Julian," he said, only implying what he couldn't say out loud.

The Malfoy patriarch put down his glass again and his expression turned serious.

"Before we continue with your assumptions and implications, I require something in return for the information you seek," said the wizard in a tone that brooked no argument.

Harry pointed his wand at the man's forehead instead.

"No."

But before he could cast another Imperio, he was suddenly without his wand in a move that he couldn't have possibly prevented. Malfoy had swiftly raised his hand and with a simple Expelliarmus Harry's wand was out of his grip.

Fuck, the man knew how to use  _wandless magic_.

Harry stepped back instinctively, ready to call his house-elves, but Lucius simply leaned back in his seat again, a small smirk revealing the only evidence of his actions.

"You didn't really think you could possibly hold me in here like a common Muggle prisoner?" he goaded, tracing his fingers over the wand that started to vibrate in the man's hand. Lucius broke Harry's stare to inspect the handle in wonder.

Harry showed no outward emotion, but deep down he knew he fucked up. And badly.

He should've taken the possibility of wandless magic into account, since it was a rare ability but one that wasn't completely out of the equation. Certain adult wizards were perfectly capable to master it, if they so desired. And Voldemort probably urged his most talented Death Eaters to study as many rare types of magic as they could, just to fortify his army.

Both of his house-elves must've sensed their master's trouble, for they immediately appeared, ready to take action. Harry shook his head silently and dismissed them again, all the while ignoring the older man's sneer.

"Relax, I won't do anything to you," the man promised and Harry's eyebrows rose.

"Then tell me, why didn't you simply break out sooner?" he asked, playing for time.

"Idle curiosity... maybe?"

Harry sighed. That wasn't good enough, but he'd have to follow along for now.

"Sit down and let's have a proper talk, Potter," the man added.

The tension was palpable.

In a way Harry should've felt threatened. But once again his need to know what was going on overpowered his instincts.

"What do you want in return?" he asked simply, looking out for any signs of an attack.

It seemed Lucius also wanted to get down to business. He pocketed Harry's wand in order to focus on what he wanted to convey.

"Very simple," the man began. "Should we ever find ourselves on opposite sides of the war, which is very likely regardless of your dubious education-," he paused, letting it sink in.

Harry frowned in thought.

"I require your oath that you won't harm my wife and my son, should you ever encounter them on the battlefield as your opponents," he concluded, grey eyes boring into the younger wizard as if that was all he needed to get Harry to acquiesce.

"Your family... Narcissa and Draco?" he asked, recalling the names he'd read about.

"Indeed," the Death Eater said.

Harry rubbed his forehead. He was a bit confused with that request, mainly because the man didn't include himself in the list, although he could've asked for that as well. What was he playing at?

As if reading his thoughts, Malfoy smiled in return.

"I don't necessarily see the point to get immunity from you. Besides, my Lord would find it suspicious if you left me out of your pitiful attacks, don't you think?"

"Spare me your patronizing remarks," Harry said sharply, not in the mood for this.

Apparently, neither was Lucius.

"Do you agree or not?"

Well, to be honest, he didn't. It seemed too much in exchange just to get some information on Julian. By comparison, he'd have to stay still and potentially get himself killed if the man's wife or son ever decided to attack him. Lucius hadn't specified that Harry could defend himself in this case. But he didn't think the man would let him. Harry raised his head and gripped the edge of his armrests tightly.

"I agree if you swear not to give out anything about me to anyone. You won't imply that you even met me at the Ministry or that you've been to my house. Nothing," he demanded. It was imperative that Lucius shut his trap about this. It was a safety measure he needed to take, but the price was high.

"Very well," the man replied, surprising Harry. The man waved his hand in apparent dismissal of the issue, looking bored.

"I didn't plan on revealing any secrets about you, Potter." he voiced.

"Not even to your precious Lord?" Harry asked in disbelief.

Lucius's eyes hardened but he nodded in confirmation, once again surprising the Potter heir.

Conversely, that was just the opening Harry needed, because now he knew one thing about Malfoy that he could mercilessly use against him in the future.

Malfoy's weak spot was his  _family_. In fact, it was such a glaring spot that showed just how disloyal the patriarch could be, in case his family was threatened. Harry wasn't certain if Voldemort knew about that, but this piece of information could prove useful in the future.

Just because Harry wasn't allowed to attack these two people, didn't mean there weren't other methods to use against the Death Eater.

Harry's face betrayed nothing, but his thoughts were whirling with new outcomes.

"You do know that you're potentially committing treason right now?" he asked, just to make sure. In turn, Malfoy rolled his eyes in a gesture that looked so out of place on the man's features, it almost made Harry laugh.

"Let that be my problem, Potter. Do we have a deal?" he asked and Harry nodded in return, albeit reluctantly.

For the oath, Malfoy unfortunately needed his wand back, which is why Harry called Libby to pick up the man's infamous cane. Thankfully, it wouldn't be an Unbreakable Vow, so Harry couldn't die if he accidentally harmed the man's family in battle.

Surprisingly, Malfoy handed back Harry's wand without much fuss, although his eyes lingered on the object longer than necessary, which in turn made Harry feel uncomfortable. Did the pure-blood wizard know about the wand?

As soon as the object was back in his possession, Harry felt reconnected with it. On top of that, the thing didn't start to act weirdly again just because he'd been disarmed, which was a relief.

They both took their time to formulate their oath to make sure that no loopholes were there, and then they spoke at the same time, letting the magic settle between them. The air sizzled with tightly controlled energy and Harry observed the way Malfoy's eyes glazed over for a moment.

Harry couldn't really tell whether this decision was a good one or just a reckless move to safe himself.

But time would eventually tell.

When the oath was spoken, Malfoy bowed his head and for a moment Harry recalled that despite the man's antagonizing remarks, Lucius acknowledged him as a genuine threat to his family.

"Now that this is settled, I shall explain everything you need to know about Julian, since you're implying he's currently teaching at Durmstrang," the man said, taking a seat again and crossing his legs.

Harry took his seat as well and called for a bottle of expensive wine, playing along for now.

"I can't be certain how much you know about his past, but I'm aware you're under Durmstrang's oath; meaning you can't tell outsiders about the school's curriculum or the staff," Lucius said, before taking another sip. Harry suddenly remembered a crucial fact about Malfoy.

"You're on the Hogwarts Board of Governors," he threw in. Malfoy didn't seem to appreciate the interruption, though.

His stare was hard.

"Correct. I'm also the chairman. And our policies are similar to Durmstrang's in terms of location secrecy and wards, although the current headmaster isn't as strict about certain matters as he should be," the man said, sneering a bit. Harry recalled that unlike Durmstrang, Hogwarts accepted Muggleborns and didn't keep the school's teaching methods a secret. From the man's expression, Harry could see why Malfoy didn't agree with Dumbledore.

"Let me also inform you that even at Durmstrang the policy to teach First Years about the Unforgivables is highly unusual, because such magic can potentially destabilize a child's magical progress if performed too early. It isn't common knowledge, though," Malfoy concluded and Harry stared in alarm.

Destabilize?

Lucius caught Harry's expression and frowned in thought.

"You seem quite lucky in that respect." The man looked him over shrewdly. "Tell me, Potter. Did you feel any side-effects? Fatigue? Or perhaps nausea?"

Harry hadn't felt any of that, but he also didn't think it would be wise to tell the Death Eater that his wand was eagerly aiding him in performing the darkest magic possible. But it was true that he didn't manage to cast the Avada Kedavra successfully yet, and he didn't feel enraged enough to practice the Cruciatus on animals. It was a problem Moline had frequently criticized him for.

He shook his head in response.

"Hm. In any case, this isn't a standardized procedure, which means that the impostor you're dealing with deliberately chooses to endanger a child's magical development. Or perhaps this person is willingly preparing to train children to fight for a war, feeding lies to make them stronger, but quite obviously weakening them in the process." Malfoy absently stroked his chin, thinking deeply about the man's possible identity.

"Why are you so sure he's an impostor?" Harry asked.

"I told you, Julian is already dead," Lucius replied, curling his fingers around the glass.

"Well, the guy could've staged his death for all we know," Harry added, but Malfoy persisted nonetheless.

"I was there when he died. There was no identity theft involved. I checked, because I was tasked to kill him," he snarled.

"Tasked to kill...?" Harry trailed off.

"Precisely. Julian Moline was excellent at potions. In fact, he was so good that my Lord personally took it upon himself to recruit the man. However, Moline proved to be all around mediocre in the Dark Arts and he had no desire to fight against Muggles. Muggle lover and blood traitor, that's what Julian was," he said.

Harry thought about all the things Eileen revealed about Moline and it did seem to fit with the impression he'd gotten from her.

"But there's one thing the Dark Lord overlooked." Lucius paused, letting out a breathless laugh that sounded almost self-deprecating. "And it was Moline's deep-rooted hatred for my Lord. In fact, Moline took his revenge on the Dark Lord after he found out that my master was responsible for killing his entire family after Julian voiced his refusal to join."

Harry stared, quite shocked that Eileen hadn't know about that.

"What did he do?" he asked quickly, leaning forward in anticipation.

"It was a quite ingenious move, actually," Lucius murmured, lost in thought for a second. "Julian botched up an invention of the Dark Lord. One that was vital to strengthen a wizard's physical prowess by means of acquiring werewolf-like characteristics without turning into one," he said.

"That's possible?" Harry asked, not quite able to hide his surprise. The blond wizard's mouth tightened in response.

"Not anymore. Over 20 years of research lost in a single act of revenge. Moline somehow stole every relevant document and destroyed the samples just as easily," he said. "Even worse, he informed the British werewolf pack of my Lord's experiments on one of their own. Needless to say, there was no hope left to see any werewolves that would fight for the Dark after that. With the exception of one, which I suppose is better. Those mindless beasts are quite worthless, to be honest," he finished.

Harry wisely kept his mouth shut, but inside he felt his anger rising. Not necessarily at Lucius and his bigoted ways, but the Dark Lord for being such a monster. Experimenting on living beings and expecting them to fight for the man anyway? No wonder, Voldemort lost so spectacularly against Dumbledore's group before he became obsessed with killing him. The fool wouldn't amass popularity if he expected to exploit every single creature and wizard for his own personal gains. Truly, the man was a pathetic excuse of a lord.

Once again, Harry wondered whether Voldemort wasn't just fighting this war for his own personal, anti-Muggle reasons. This story certainly reaffirmed his beliefs. It didn't look like Voldemort cared all that much about Dark magic or any magic outside of what it could do for him in terms of power. The pure-blood sovereignty was just a hoax.

Harry observed Lucius closely. It was definitely a possibility that a man like Lucius could come to the same conclusion, since he seemed to value the Dark side not only for magical power, but also for spiritual reasons. The blonde must've harbored treacherous thoughts for some time now.

"You said you were tasked to kill him..." Harry started.

"Good observation, Potter. I didn't manage it. Before I could end his life, Julian did the job for me. He killed himself right in front of my eyes. And no, Potter. He wasn't an impostor. I made sure."

Harry frowned.

"Did the Dark Lord demand evidence?" he asked, tapping his fingers against the armrest. Lucius nodded.

"He did. I delivered the body."

Silence met his statement and it took several minutes for either of them to come to terms with that conversation.

"So whoever is currently posing as Moline is some sort of fraud who had known him before his demise," Harry mused, disturbed. However, Lucius caught on.

"Polyjuice is out of the question, considering the man's elaborate disguise. He'd need fresh supplies from the man himself, and Moline would need to be alive for that to work," the patriarch concluded.

For a breathless moment Harry's thoughts turned to Voldemort and he wondered whether the man found a way to disguise himself, since it was him who last set his eyes on the body.

Lucius smirked in return, accurately interpreting Harry's shock.

"Don't worry, Potter. My Lord wouldn't waste his time disguising himself in order to infiltrate your school. And he wouldn't teach some brats how they can destroy their own magical cores."

'Well, I wouldn't be so sure...' Harry thought, seriously questioning Voldemort's sanity and his twisted motives.

"Besides, Karkaroff would already be dead, if that happened," Lucius reasoned.

"I will find out at some point," Harry said in return, dismissing the comment. Sensing the end of that conversation Lucius picked up his cane and turned his back to Harry.

"It's been pleasant doing business with you, Mr. Potter. But I must be on my way. I'm sure you understand that," the Death Eater explained, straightening out his wrinkled, black robes.

Harry narrowed his eyes at the man, but didn't say anything in response to that.

"Ah, I forgot to mention. Your mudblood mother worked quite closely with Julian at some point," the blonde added. "It's unfortunate you can't ask her about that," he said, not sounding remorseful at all.

Harry smiled pleasantly in return.

"Remember our oath." With those last words Malfoy made his way over to the front door. However, Harry wasn't quite finished yet, nor would he allow the arrogant bastard to think that he held the upper hand just because he could do wandless magic.

"Mr. Malfoy?" Harry asked and the blond wizard turned around. Having taken the bottle of wine with a quick move, he quickly used the opportunity to smash the glass against Lucius' head with as much force as he could manage.

The startled wizard crumpled to the floor, falling unconscious.

Harry stared at the man's form dispassionately.

As usual, the old fashioned Muggle way was simply the best way to get things done.

"You should learn not to insult someone's mother," Harry said and snapped his fingers. Libby appeared in front of him and Harry quickly ordered her to Apparate him away from here.

"Take him to Muggle London, I don't care. Just make sure, he doesn't die from that head injury," Harry asked and Libby nodded eagerly, obeying immediately.

The wine was quickly spreading on the richly decorated rug.

What a waste.

* * *

Returning to Durmstrang turned out to be less of a problem than he initially thought. Usually, invisible carriages picked up the students from Oslo's main Muggle station. The problem however was his journey from Wiltshire to Oslo, which was an experience Harry never wanted to repeat. House-elves weren't accustomed to inter-continental Apparition.

Harry was also quite fed up with all the secrecy and need to disguise himself as much as possible, but he vowed to end this with the Ministry's help. Farnes hadn't bothered to contact him yet, though. All he could do was wait and hope she wasn't seriously injured.

"Hey, Potter. There you are," Danielle called, running over to him so that she could join him in the carriage. Harry smiled in return.

"Good to see you again."

Both of them unloaded their trunks and made themselves more comfortable. They were also joined by Krum who carried several trunks and two brooms with him.

"Congrats on joining the Bulgarian national team," Danielle said and Krum nodded, a bit bashful.

"I vas very lucky vith that," he added and Harry turned to him, honestly surprised, since Krum didn't tell him about that in the letter.

"You were picked by the national team?" he asked.

"Oh, seriously Potter. Do you live on the moon now?" Danielle joked. "It was all over the papers. Viktor Krum, the rising star and seeker of this generation. His fans have quadrupled in numbers."

"Yeah, sorry. Quidditch isn't really my priority," Harry said, scratching his head awkwardly. Viktor shot him a small smile, mostly because he knew how much Harry loved to fly but never wanted to attract that kind of attention.

"I vill convince you to join a team, Harry. You vill never hear the end of it," Krum threatened lightly, clapping him on the shoulder.

Harry's new companion suddenly decided to make herself known, hooting loudly.

"Oh, is that your owl, Potter? So pretty." Danielle stared at Hedwig who seemed to bask under the attention. Harry chuckled lightly, gazing fondly at his new feathery friend.

"Her name's Hedwig and you shouldn't do that. Her ego will probably get bigger than Viktor's fanclub if you keep that up," he said, laughing when his Snowy owl hooted in offense, glaring fiercely at him.

"She has your attitude, Harry," Viktor said and the younger wizard was suddenly reminded of Hedwig's first appearance at Potter manor, when the owl decided to get in a fight with his house-elves after they have purchased her. It had been a bizarre sight.

Danielle chuckled, nodding in agreement, before turning to something more serious.

"So. Did you hear anything about Karkaroff? The old fart must've gotten in some serious trouble if leaving was his only option," she mused.

"Vho cares. Good riddance," Krum said in a gruff voice.

"I suppose it's for the best," Harry agreed, not really wanting to talk about the wizard's motives. Secretly, he hoped that Karkaroff would never bother to return. Besides, he often thought about his wand and wondered why Karkaroff never picked up on the fact that it was one of the objects he apparently desired all along. The old man certainly must've had his suspicions regarding the object and Gregorovitch's actions. Harry planned to interrogate the Minister about it as soon as possible, since she obviously knew more than she let on.

The ride to Durmstrang took several hours and for the rest of the time they entertained themselves with Exploding Snap and Danielle's endless stash of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans.

Harry experienced the unpleasant taste of earwax and belly button lint, which earned him pitiful looks from his friends in return. Seriously, how did this Bertie Bott idiot come up with belly button lint?

The sky darkened visibly and the clap of thunder startled all of them and made Hedwig hoot in distress.

"What a crappy start to the term," the witch said, watching as they landed on Durmstrang's grounds while it began to pour quite heavily. Harry drew his wand to shrink his trunk and quickly cast the Impervius charm on himself, with Krum and Danielle both copying is actions.

They made a run for the entrance, followed by several other groups of students.

Harry wondered if Voldemort's Death Eaters still bothered to check on the school with Karkaroff now on the run.

As they made their way over to the Great Hall, they were quickly joined by Filipp, who nodded at them in greeting. Krum on the other hand left the group in order to join his classmates, getting enthusiastic greetings from them. Harry hadn't talked to him about the contents of his letter, but at this point he thought he didn't need to anymore.

As soon as everyone was gathered, Headmaster Moline greeted the students, following protocol and intruding Professor Wilkes as the Deputy. He didn't elaborate on Karkaroff's absence, but Harry watched the students closely, getting the idea that pretty much everyone was glad the man had left.

For the rest of the speech, Harry tuned him out, focusing on the small letter he'd gotten instead while everyone was busy with dinner and gossip. The message was simple and signed with Moline's initials, informing Harry once again that nothing would threaten him and that his stay at Durmstrang was still a secret.

The support didn't make him feel any better, though; especially now that he was hoping to discover the man's true identity instead of falling for his empty words.

He incinerated the parchment, before filling his plate with food, getting weird looks from Filipp in return.

He already missed Potter manor.

* * *

Classes started to get even more intense and before the students knew it, they were swamped with dozens of assignments and tests. Moreover, Harry picked up his self-studies again and joined Krum and the older students in some mock-dueling practice. As a result, his stamina and health improved significantly, although he still sometimes felt a dreaded sense of emptiness that threatened to overwhelm him in moments of weakness. The nightmares were replaced with odd thoughts and stuff that didn't make much sense.

He also watched Moline closely without making it too obvious; he even asked Eileen to evaluate what she knew about him. At some stage, the ghost had to admit that Moline wasn't really himself, because he tended to be too self-assertive and knowledgable in ways that the real Julian had never achieved. She had also mourned her friend when that observation became fact.

"It's not Polyjuice," he stated again, pacing back and forth in his room.

"Obviously," Eileen drawled, making herself comfortable on Harry's bed. Or as much as a ghost could.

"Well, there's glamours-"

"Wouldn't hold," she interrupted and Harry sighed in frustration.

"Then how about runes?"

"Possible, but highly complex and potentially life-threatening if applied too often," she answered drily, raising her arm to draw some invisible patterns in the air, lost in thought.

"Okay. Then there's only Metamorphmagus left," he concluded, staring at his collection of books.

"Pretty much."

Harry didn't know much about Metamorphmagi, but he was pretty sure that you couldn't possibly force one to reveal themselves if they didn't want to. Which meant the only option left was torture.

He could also decide to just let it go, but he'd rather deal with the problem now than getting some nasty surprises in the future.

"Torturing the man for that seems a bit over the top," he admitted after a while, taking his glasses off to rub his eyes. That statement made Eileen stare at him in return.

"Second thoughts already? Harry, don't think your opponents would hold back. They'd do far worse things to you for even less," she stated, shaking her head. Harry glared heatedly.

"Well, what if he isn't my opponent?" he asked.

"What if he is?" she shot back, floating over.

Harry's shoulders slumped, the gravity of the situation not failing to get to him. He'd have to decide soon how to deal with that man and ignoring the problem wouldn't make it go away, especially since he was still in some way dependent on the school until graduation. Which was still six and a half years away from now.

"I'll deal with it," said the boy finally, which was enough to placate Eileen for now. It was quite obvious that she was a bit pushy about the issue, because someone had taken on the identity of a person she cared about quite deeply.

"I'm sure it'll work out. From what I heard you managed to hold your own quite well at the Ministry," she said, smirking at him. Harry took off his robe, placing the heavy cloak on the armchair.

"How did you know?" he asked.

He hadn't told anybody about the things that happened in Oslo.

"Don't worry, Harry. No one knows about your involvement. I was simply putting two and two together, although I'm sure the impostor must've come to the same conclusion," the Prince woman said, distress briefly crossing her shapeless expression.

"Brilliant. For all I know, the man could've been part of the gang," Harry mumbled, picking out his pajamas to change. Filipp would be back from his social gathering soon and he didn't feel like talking to the other boy.

"It's your task to find out," Eileen stated and then waved him goodbye before floating through the wall, leaving Harry to his troubled thoughts.

Harry changed and quickly got under the covers, remembering that he still needed to sign his acceptance letter for the Ministry, regardless of Farnes' lack of response. It was only thanks to her that he even had access to his vault and wouldn't have to deal with England and Dumbledore for now. He had a bargain to fulfill.

A plan formed in his mind, a solution how to deal with Moline that was taking visible shape. There was a way to expose the man while at the same time dealing with another issue he needed to solve.

The  _prophecy_  that he would get soon. The same prophecy that fake Moline had brought to his attention.

Harry's smile sharpened. Yes, he couldn't wait to break into the Ministry.

That'd be fun.

Unfortunately, his adventurous fantasies came to an abrupt end when a pillow smacked him right in the face.

"Seriously, Potter. Don't do that. It's creepy," Filipp hissed, completely startling the smaller wizard who hadn't even heard the other boy come in.

"Do what?" he asked, putting the pillow away in annoyance.

Dolohov crossed his arms. "That weird smile. You look like my father used to when he got all blood-thirsty or when he planned Muggle genocide," he explained, shuddering slightly.

"Then we have something in common," Harry said dryly.

Filipp stared, before starting to laugh.

"Do tell. I can't wait to join your cause, my Lord," he mocked and this time it was his face that was decorated with a pillow.

"Go to sleep, idiot," Harry said, smiling in return.

Dolohov bowed, making him smile. He drew up the curtains with a wave of his wand.

Yes, Harry missed the freedom that Potter manor provided.

But being back here wasn't really so bad, to be honest.


	12. The Triangle

A fundamental change settled inside the castle's grounds with Karkaroff's disappearance. Harry wouldn't describe it as carefree, but people definitely acted different, as if for the first time in their school career they could breathe more easily.

Of course, Igor had been despised by many people, students and some teachers alike, but nobody ever dared to express it outwardly in fear of retribution from the headmaster or the Ministry.

Now the relief was palpable.

However, it didn't mean that the curriculum became any less intense. In fact, he thought it was the opposite, which is why he was determined not to fall behind. Unfortunately, the stuff some teachers were teaching them was overstepping the moral comfort zone more often than not.

Like now.

The small golem whined pitifully, twisting grey-colored limbs in seemingly impossible angles and writhing on the table as if someone was ripping its intestines out. Each student had a mini-golem to experiment on. Which meant torture.

" _Verdimillious Tria Legaminis,_ " Harry chanted again, directing the green sparks to affect the cerebrospinal nervous system. Given the way his golem screeched when the curse settled in, it was probably successful, Harry thought wryly. It sounded like an endless litany of pain.

He wondered how creatures created of clay and stone could possibly feel that kind of magic? Students around him repeated the incantation and the screaming matches almost deafened him, but he kept going and the cries intensified.

The protruding veins on the golem forked out and disfigured the body temporarily, its pulsing branches looking sickly green beneath the rough, grey skin. The creature's eyes - Harry had named the thing Marge- were starting to pop out, but thankfully no blood splattered on the table.

"That's enough," their charms professor called and Harry looked up, canceling the charm just in time to see the disappointed reactions in some of his classmates' faces.

"I want two rolls of parchment on the proper wand movements and incantation of this charm, since it seems to me that quite a lot of you still need to work on the basics," the professor said, emphasizing that last part.

Mercia who was sitting beside him groaned loudly.

"This is ridiculous," she said, and with a flick of her wand her golem rolled off the table, landing with a sickening splat on the stone floor. The girl sitting in front of her instantly backed away, knocking into her own golem.

"Can't say I disagree," Harry added, watching the spectacle in amusement. Thankfully, Little Marge behaved well compared to the others. But maybe she was just passed out from the torture. He couldn't say.

"Honestly, Potter. I don't see why the teachers get off on seeing us hurting lifeless beasts. I mean what's the point? All I do lately is attack this, subdue that, kill this. It's starting to get annoying," she murmured, eyeing Harry's golem with revulsion. Harry on the other hand grabbed his bag to pack up.

"That's probably because you're confusing normal schooling with Death Eater training camp, which is what I think this is turning into," he added, shouldering his stuff.

Both of them quickly left the classroom and headed for lunch break. Harry had taken a glimpse at the miserable state of Dolohov's golem on the way out, and grimaced at the expression his roommate didn't bother to hide.

People were getting addicted to that kind of magic. Especially the younger ones.

"That's what you think? That our headmaster wants this school under the Dark Lord's command?" she asked, frowning in thought. Harry ran his fingers through his black hair.

"Well, what else could it be?"

They passed a group of second year boys who pointed at Harry and started whispering furiously.

"Sod off, idiots!" Mercia said, giving them the finger. Harry quickly followed after her, not wanting to get into an argument.

"Anyway, I don't think that's it. Mainly it's because the Dark Lord has no use for children in his ranks. Or even young adults. A smart man wouldn't need them."

"Which he isn't," Harry pointed out drily.

She chuckled at that, pushing past a group of girls who were loitering in the corridor. "Seriously, I wonder whether it's just you being a brat or something else. Sometimes I think you just want to get yourself killed." They both sidestepped a ghost that was floating through the door into another classroom.

"On the other hand, you're quite the fighter. Don't think I didn't forget your duel with Dolohov, " she remarked, waggling her eyebrows.

Harry shrugged.

"Trust me, if I wanted to off myself, I would just cross the wards and wait for his cronies to do the job," he said, avoiding the topic. She must've caught on his discomfort, but decided not to press the issue.

"As far as I heard they're gone. Which means our ex-headmaster was probably the target," Mercia said, heading for their table in the Great Hall.

"Or he's just luring me into a false sense of security," he pointed out, taking a seat beside Danielle. He'd known about the significant decrease in spies, but that didn't make him feel any safer.

"What are you two gossiping about?" the blond witch asked, eyeing Mercia curiously. Harry filled his goblet with pumpkin juice and reached for the treacle tart.

"My low chances of survival," he murmured before taking a bite.

* * *

March turned into April. It meant most students were busy studying for the end of term exams, NEWTs and other qualifications they could achieve at Durmstrang.

Harry couldn't quite believe that almost a year's passed since he left his relatives and his old life behind. He'd come far and had been thrown into one disaster after another.

But he didn't regret it, despite the fact that his life was stamped with a possible expiration date. Oddly enough, that didn't make him feel as bad as it did before.

Harry certainly experienced ups and down, days when he didn't feel like getting out of bed or times when studying was all that mattered. Eileen often reminded him that he was allowed to be a kid and relax from time to time, and with her help and Krum's support, those days didn't drag him down completely.

As a result, his exams turned out to be quite easy to handle in the end. And now it was time for summer break.

Harry and Viktor were taking one of the carriages back to Oslo, from where they would be traveling to Bulgaria and England respectively.

"The offer still stands," Krum said, eyeing the chocolate frog card he was holding in his hands. It was a picture of Dumbledore.

"I know. And I appreciate it, but maybe another time," Harry said, declining Viktor's offer to stay with him.

Honestly, he  _wanted_  to go, but he had too much going on to plan another trip to a foreign country.

"Too bad, I vas hoping ve could practice more duelling." Krum patted his arm and Harry snorted.

"You don't need more practice. I'm starting to think I should find someone who's more on my level. Fighting with you always makes me feel inferior." He chuckled slightly when he noticed Krum's smirk.

Last week, Moline had asked Viktor to stay behind after class. It turned out that the Bulgarian Quidditch star would be skipping a grade, returning to Durmstrang as a fifth year. It was such an unusual thing to do- even at their school- that Moline had asked the boy to keep it a secret for now. Viktor still told him everything of course, which was a nice gesture.

On some level, Harry had known that the other boy was gifted in many ways, although outsiders often tended to think that Viktor was dim-witted.

But in the end Harry was quite proud to see his friend advancing and proving others wrong.

"Don't be so modest. I'm sure you vill do great next year," the other replied, picking out another card. Dumbledore again.

Harry shifted slightly, propping up his foot on the seat to make himself more comfortable. Outside he could make out a clear sky. Even Hedwig seemed to long for a nice flight with the way she kept hooting impatiently from time to time, clearly displeased with being in her cage. Harry shot her an apologetic look.

"Doing great at school is one thing. But I don't think that will be enough." Harry inclined his head, his thoughts turning to the inevitable problems.

Krum gazed at him, sensing the shift in Harry's mood.

"You're afraid," the older boy said. The simplicity of those words made Harry cringe. Yet the honesty was refreshing to experience, although Harry couldn't quite hide the bitterness in turn.

"Wouldn't you be?"

Viktor blinked. "Of course. I vould probably run away." His eyes bored into Harry's green ones. "There's no shame in being afraid. You hav a very poverful, dark vizard after your life. The vorld is preparing for another var, even if they don't knov it yet. Even most kids at Durmstrang don't knov it yet, but these people put too much pressure on you, expecting you to succeed in everything like some God," Viktor said, pausing slightly at the end. "I vould not be able to cope. For me, it's very impressive and admirable to see the vay you still keep going."

Harry's cheeks colored slightly and he averted his eyes. Viktor chuckled at that.

"You're not the only one vho's afraid. But that means ve can do it together. And to me there's nothing more poverful than that. Having people vho support you along the vay is better than being alone," he explained, his voice full of steely determination.

Harry smiled. He honestly couldn't say where Krum got his confidence from, but it was uplifting to hear that.

"Well, that's comforting. Now I have your broad shoulders to lean on if something bad happens," he teased.

"Da, I vill be your protector!" Krum declared proudly, before turning serious again. With a nonchalant flick of his wand, he gathered all remaining chocolate frog cards, packing them away.

"I vas vondering vat you vill do in the summer all by yourself?" he asked and Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Training, I suppose," he said. "And I have several things to sort out. Inheritance and ministry issues," explained Harry, before remembering something. "Oh, and I will try to work on both Legilimency and Occlumency."

Viktor nodded.

"That's good. I should do the same. Haven't been the best in mind arts and it's dangerous to go around expo- expos-" Krum searched for the word, frowning.

"Exposed," Harry threw in, watching the sky as the carriage flew over the highlands.

"Yes. Anyone can invade your mind. The problem is getting a good tutor. Someone you can trust," the older wizard said and Harry agreed. Finding someone who could keep your secrets while traipsing around your head and revealing weaknesses required deeper trust. Which posed a problem, because getting just any tutor to the manor was out of the cards for Harry.

"I'll do the meditation exercises first. That's something we can do by ourselves."

"You can do it," Krum sighed, massaging his temple. "I can't. I have tvo sisters to take care of and there's still Quidditch practice. Getting a minute to myself vould be a miracle."

That was true. Harry recalled that Krum lived with his mentally disabled father and two younger sisters in a rundown house and was the primary caretaker of the whole family. He'd heard about financial problems from others, but he never found a non-awkward way to discuss this with his friend. At some point, Harry had wondered if he could just give them some of his money or maybe a place to stay. But he didn't want to treat Viktor like a charity case, since he knew exactly how weird it felt to accept money from others when you were poor.

"Still, I'm gonna send you the books. By then I'll hopefully manage to sort out the tutor issue," he said finally.

"Thanks." Krum smiled gratefully and Harry nodded.

Something else occurred to him as well.

"I wonder how the other students at school do it. I mean," he paused, narrowing his eyes. "They have all the help in the world, doting parents and so on. And yet I don't really see them training like we do. In my year, all I've seen people doing is gossipping and studying for exams."

Krum rolled his eyes.

"That's because these kids are spoiled." He sniffed as if the thought of associating himself with people in Harry's class was an unpleasant idea.

"Well, yeah. But they should have an idea what's going on outside. Their families aren't exactly subtle," Harry pointed out, thinking about all the Dolohovs and others that were running around.

"And their parents have filled their empty heads vith heroic tales of the Dark Lord. But they'll vake up soon. And vhen that happens, it'll be too late to fix it," Krum said uncaringly, dismissing the matter entirely. In a way Harry could understand why Krum hated their attitudes so much. He remembered an earlier conversation between them, when Viktor revealed how his grandfather had been killed by Grindelwald and how he had to put people in their place, classmates who were only too eager to worship the elusive, old man who had studied at their school.

Hedwig hooted loudly and bobbed her head, as if agreeing with the wizard.

Harry leaned back further, sighing deeply.

"Some people maybe. Others train but seem to, I don't know, hate the idea of doing what they're doing now," he said, recalling his conversation with Mercia Robards.

Krum scoffed. "It's Moline's fault. Our creep of a headmaster is really pushing it vith the Dark Arts. More than Karkaroff ever did."

"And he's really obvious about it," Harry added and they shared a look, their mutual suspicion of Moline's agenda making itself known. Harry had a few guesses as to why the impostor was doing it, but he wanted to observe more closely before dealing with the man and proceeding with his plan.

The carriages would arrive at the main train station soon. Harry picked up his own chocolate frog card, staring at the benevolent, elderly face of Albus Dumbledore, before stuffing it into his pocket.

Yes, he hoped everything would turn out as planned. He'd most likely end up dead if not.

* * *

Harry was disguised under a simple glamour, weaving his way through the crowd of wizards and witches. He'd parted ways with Viktor earlier, promising to write him. Right now he was looking for an empty spot to call Alby, so as not to get noticed.

The crowds of students and parents suffocated him and he had to use force to push past a group of elderly people who were all dressed in black as if for a funeral. Someone snarled angrily at him, but Harry ignored it, quickening his steps.

'There it is,' he thought. He moved around the corner and reached an empty waiting room.

"Alby?" Harry called in a low voice.

His faithful house-elf instantly appeared out of nowhere, bowing lowly.

"Can you take Hedwig and my stuff with you and then release her? I'm sure she wants out of the cage," Harry said. With that, his stuff vanished. Before his house-elf could reappear, though, someone tapped his shoulder lightly.

Harry turned around, alarmed;

Only to see the smiling, kind face of Minister Farnes peering down at him.

"What are  _you_  doing here," he exclaimed, shocked that he hadn't sensed anyone following him. That was bad.

"Sightseeing, Potter. I enjoy visiting crowded train stations from time to time. It's...relaxing, wouldn't you say?"

Harry drew his wand, not amused in the slightest.

"What was the first thing you said to me when we first met?" he demanded, searching her face for any trace of malice or lies.

"Wrong question, Potter. Besides I could search your mind for the correct answer. Alas, we shouldn't exchange meaningless reassurances, especially with people we don't trust," she said airily and extended a hand for him to take.

It was the correct answer, but Harry stared impassively at her hand. Farnes let out an exasperated sound.

"I don't have time for this." And with that she grabbed him, forcing him into a Side-along Apparition.

Harry didn't even have time to react, much less defend himself, before he reappeared in a stuffy room he'd never seen before.

The Minister released his arm and then moved over to the polished table. With an elegant swish of her wand and a murmured incantation a privacy wall was erected.

"Am I supposed to feel any safer now? And how did you find me?" Harry asked; his wand still at the ready.

"It's of no consequence. Besides, if I wanted to kill you, you'd already be dead, Mr. Potter."

Harry grunted, feeling annoyed.

"That's comforting," he mumbled, making his way over to one of the plush armchairs, picking the one that was further away from the Minister's seat.

"Where are we anyway?" he asked, looking around, absently canceling his glamour.

"Still in Oslo. Unfortunately we had to relocate after the Death Eaters infiltrated the main building. This is a safe house," she explained, reaching for something inside her bag.

"What did they want? And what the hell happened to Karkaroff?" he asked immediately.

"All in good time," she replied.

Harry's sharp gaze fixed on a small box that Farnes has taken out. It was covered in black velvet, but he couldn't make out any inscriptions or anything.

She opened the lid slowly and his curiosity got the better of him. He peered inside, only to see several nondescript-looking wands lined up neatly.

"Are these...?"

The witch smirked, her eyes gleaming in delight.

"The  _failed experiments_? Yes. The wands are the original creations, the objects Igor was looking for," she explained, sliding the box across the table and motioning for him to take a closer look. Harry didn't touch it.

"Were you running around with these things all the time?" asked Harry, his voice filled with incredulity.

Farnes scoffed at that. "You are hard to reach, but so was I. Originally, I planned to give it to you right away before leaving, but it was better if you came here. Less risk of being observed," she voiced.

Harry's wand started to vibrate softly and he adjusted his grip, holding it closer to the box. He noticed a single spot that was free inside, obviously indicating that his wand belonged to the group. The vibrations intensified.

"That feels odd," he marveled.

Farnes eyed the way Harry's wand reacted.

"Yes, it seems that it recognizes the other ones. It's a very unusual phenomenon for wands to react to each other like that. It only happens with brother wands and not even to that degree," she mused, licking her lips.

"So they have the same core?" Harry asked, remembering having read something about the Priori Incantatem effect when two brother wands were used by opposite forces.

"Probably, but the wandmakers tended to make the unusual work. It could be anything. I'm afraid I'm not an expert on wand lore," the Minister admitted.

Harry thought over the latest revelations and what he'd gathered from Gregorovitch and to some extend Karkaroff as well.

"Did Karkaroff know?" he asked tentatively.

"About Gregorovitch's work and your involvement in it? Wasn't he with you when you first got your wand?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably. "Eh- yes, but it didn't look like they were friends. I honestly thought they were pretending in front of me," he recalled. "And how do you know that?" he added.

Farnes smiled, tilting her head a bit. "Good observation. They aren't friends. More like close acquaintances. And I know, because I kept an eye on their movements. Well," she paused. "That and Karkaroff was inclined to tell me more about the lovely Ms. Yassine and her partner in crime. Guessing by your reaction, he must've told the truth."

Harry's lips thinned in distaste.

"So it's true. You're working with him somehow?" he speculated, watching her face closely. At this the Minister laughed out loud and it took longer than necessary for her to calm down.

"Working with him? No, no. It seems you're under the misconception that we have common goals." She shook her head. "No, you're currently dealing with three groups with different aims and approaches to take down Lord Voldemort, " she explained, holding up her fingers. She gave him a somewhat pitying look that Harry dismissed entirely. Just because he didn't get the full picture yet, didn't mean he had to rely on her goodwill to explain everything. Most of it would be biased anyway.

"First we have the group of wandmakers and their illegal association, which by the way had been doing certain immoral experiments long before you and I were even born. Yassine and Gregorovitch belong to that association."

Harry remembered how Mykew boasted about their achievements, although he always got the idea that it was Yassine who knew more about their dealings than he did. He could certainly believe that what they've done against Voldemort was more than illegal. Gregorovitch flat out admitted that Carolina had used the so called Old Ways to produce these wands without the Ministry's interference.

Interference...

Did that mean?

Farnes smiled at him knowingly.

"Yes, my department was responsible for uncovering their dealings and confiscating the wands and several other illegal items."

Harry followed that train of thought.

"And Karkaroff was..."

"The defector," she concluded. "He was part of their little group for a while, although I believe he didn't know much about their experiments, since he was mostly responsible for gathering information. Information, which he also sent to me as part of his protection at Durmstrang."

"And he picked another side in the end?" Harry asked, leaning forward and letting his wand touch the box softly.

"I'm afraid I don't know why he left them, but what he essentially did was another form of betrayal. The interesting thing however is that these people have led it slide, which is a mystery I haven't figured out yet. And neither has Igor," she told him, watching Harry's wand closely.

"It's probably because the old man is still useful to them somehow," Harry speculated and the Minister nodded.

"True. Anyway, the third group you're dealing with is me and the ministry."

"Lucky me," Harry droned, making her grin.

"Don't be so sad about it," she admonished, and turned serious. "I'll be honest with you, Mr. Potter. I have no use for these wands and Karkaroff wants all of them and you as part of a grander scheme, which in my honest opinion will most likely fail."

"You don't say," he shot back, leaning back again, feeling exhausted already.

"On the other hand we have a group of people experimenting on a method to defeat the Dark Lord and using you as guinea pig to achieve that, which is why both Karkaroff and the wandmakers entrusted you with that thing in your hand. If these wands were the only instruments that worked, you wouldn't be needed," she elaborated.

She went on. "Which is why I'm giving this to you in hopes you will make your own informed choices. Do whatever you want with these wands, destroy them, experiment on them by yourself, I don't care." The Minister left her seat to move over to the window. Harry stared at her in disbelief.

"You're basically telling me to do something illegal," he interjected.

She turned around and her eyes were seeing right through him.

"I'm telling you the same thing I said before. Become your  _own man_  and don't believe others are gifting you with these toys out of the goodness of their miserable hearts," she exclaimed.

"I know that!" he said. "I know that you're doing the same. Hell, Karkaroff came up with the exact same rhetoric; giving me a false sense of security, an opportunity to do things by myself, painting yourself as the good guys, even though you already have an endgame in mind."

The witch frowned. "My endgame is the Dark Lord's demise. You want it. I want it." She paused. "Even they want it. But in the end you're the only one who can decide how it's done, regardless of my actions or theirs."

"That's easy for you to say," Harry said, tired of everything.

"It  _is_. Besides, the reason why I don't believe these wands are all that useful is because they are a poor imitation of the real thing," explained the Minister.

"The real thing?" Harry asked, thrown off.

She gave an enigmatic smile in return.

"Have you heard of the so called Deathly Hallows?" she asked.

_The what?_

* * *

Lucius Malfoy left the meeting room quickly, trying to calm his wildly beating heart. The last couple of months could only be described as harrowing.

His Lord was constantly keeping an eye on him, watching him with a sort of knowing expression that basically screamed 'I know you had a lovely chat with Mr. Potter.'

His disappearance during winter break hadn't gone unnoticed, of course. But despite the secrecy vow, he'd honestly expected to be tortured for information until every last drop of knowledge was ripped out of his mind.

What he didn't expect however was his Lord's utter indifference to the matter. As soon as he reported on the circumstances surrounding his sudden disappearance -leaving out everything Potterish-, the Dark Lord didn't bother to ask for more.

Still, the untold knowledge weighted heavily on Lucius' mind, not to mention the fact that he still needed to pay the brat back for what he'd done to him. On top of that his master was probably enjoying his general discomfort. Even Narcissa had noticed that something was wrong.

"Rough meeting?" someone jeered from behind him and Lucius turned around only to see Yaxley leaning casually against the wall with his arms crossed in a relaxed fashion. The Death Eater was watching him in cold amusement, his eyes trailing over the blonde's form, searching for a weakness.

Lucius straightened and turned away from the man. Yaxley was a nuisance, but one he didn't want to waste his time on. Especially not today.

He didn't get very far however, because suddenly he saw another man coming from the opposite direction. The man was obviously heading for the meeting room, but what surprised him the most and made Yaxley gasp was something else entirely.

"Severus?" Yaxley whispered, incredulous.

Snape's thin lips curled in distaste as soon as he came closer, but his dark eyes found Lucius and his expression once again turned indifferent. He walked past them without another word, black robes billowing behind him.

Both Death Eaters stared after the retreating figure in barely hidden confusion and surprise.

"Well, that is interesting," Yaxley murmured.

'Indeed,' Lucius thought.

* * *

"I'm not gonna wear that," Harry exclaimed, holding the strange, pale-blue robes in his hands and away from him as if they were infested with flobberworms.

"So vain," Farnes mocked. "Anyway, you don't have a choice. The meeting is in ten minutes, so I suggest you hurry," she said, before leaving the room.

Harry sighed, mourning the loss of a peaceful summer break. Earlier that day he managed to inform his house-elves that he wouldn't be returning to the manor until next week.

The knowledge of the Deathly Hallows started to burden him more than he liked to admit.

Moreover, he was expected to uphold his deal in exchange for the vaults, but what he didn't assume was that he'd be thrown into the politics crash course right from the start. He hadn't even fully agreed to change citizenship yet and now he was supposed to attend the first international conference on wizarding education restrictions?

Farnes had expertly gotten him roped into attending this conference now that he was actually here.

And he was completely and totally unprepared.

He didn't want to admit that a hidden part of him was kind of excited to attend, though. After all, this was something of an opportunity to test the public field outside of school.

So he reluctantly got dressed in the formal robes and headed for the meeting, which was taking place in a large circular hall with strict security and secrecy vows ensuring a smooth process.

Minister Farnes who was already dressed in similar robes was standing outside and waiting impatiently for him.

"So glad you could make it," she said, inspecting him closely.

"Well, wouldn't want to miss out on the fun now, would we?" Harry said, pocketing his wand safely away. "Besides, I always wanted to have my first public introduction to the wizarding world happen in front of stuffy old men," he added dryly.

Farnes grinned sharply. "Don't worry, Potter. Once we get that out of the way, you'll get your perfect audience of screaming teenagers and journalists from all over the world," she said and Harry groaned.

That'd be fun.

Her expression became serious then.

"Remember, everything that happens inside of that room is a secret. No one will be able to talk about the people attending. It's a good opportunity to listen in and see if you can work out their weak points."

"I know," Harry said and adjusted his body language. He'd have to appear confident without looking arrogant or helplessly ignorant. True, he probably wouldn't know any names or backgrounds outside of the English politicians, but that didn't mean he couldn't observe and learn from others how to get what they wanted on the political field. It was a useful skill to acquire.

"Ready?" Farnes asked and Harry nodded.

They entered the room. At once the noise level increased dramatically and it didn't help that the air was stifling, smelling vaguely of old parchment. Farnes made her way over to the podium and Harry followed behind, gazing at nothing.

The whispering was a constant buzz in his ears, but he didn't let that distract him as he carefully seated himself on the Minister's left.

"Is that Harry Potter?" someone shouted in English and Harry cursed inwardly, not liking how easily he could get recognized because of his glasses and his stupid hair. It didn't help that those sitting closest to him already peered at the spot above his brow to inspect his famous scar.

Fuck. No subtlety at all.

"Silence," the Minister commanded in a booming voice and Harry could admit that she was handling herself just fine.

Farnes held up her hand.

"Welcome to the ICEWR, ladies and gentlemen," she started. "Before we begin, I'd like to preempt any questions that undoubtedly seem to plague your mind." She took a deep breath and gave Harry a small smile.

"Yes, Mr. Potter is indeed joining us for tonight and I hope that you'll make him feel welcome, as this is his first time attending such an event."

If Harry thought these people were noisy, nothing could compare to the explosion of shouts that occurred after that statement. Merlin's balls, he was getting a headache. He also didn't appreciate that Farnes had so obviously pointed out his naiveté in the political game.

"The circumstances are irrelevant," Farnes continued, her voice rising above the noise. "The only thing you need to know is that from now on Mr. Potter will be treated as my protégé," she explained and her eyes hardened.

"This is preposterous," someone shouted and another person who was sitting right beside Harry murmured obscenities.

"You can't just decide that for yourself, Minister. Potter is  _the Boy-Who-Lived_. The one we've all been searching for this entire time. He has nothing to do with Norway," an Englishman exclaimed. Harry had enough.

He leaned forward as well, pinning the old man down with his gaze. It seems his sudden reaction was unexpected. Even Farnes looked at him curiously and with no small amount of alarm.

"I believe I'm the one who decides whether he wants to work with Minister Farnes or not," Harry said lowly. The man looked confused at first, before his pointy and hollowed features twisted in something like mockery.

"You're a little boy, Potter. I don't think-," he started but Harry interrupted him quickly.

"And your name is?"

The man sneered in return. "Pius Thicknesse."

Harry frowned at that, remembering a small article printed in a German magazine that had revealed something quite incriminating about the man. It made the rounds, but the only solid evidence he'd gotten was from a more direct source. Professor Moline.

"Thicknesse," Harry murmured and people held their breaths. "Ah yes, Pius Thicknesse, the one who bribed his way into the Department of Magical Law Enforcement just last summer, " Harry said calmly. "How cute."

The man's face turned an ugly shade of purple that vaguely reminded him of Uncle Vernon.

The silence however was the best outcome and it looked like Minister Farnes agreed with him on that.

"Well, this is supposed to be a conference on wizarding education. So, let's talk about that," Harry said finally, smiling pleasantly.


	13. Scheming

Backing down was not an option. Thicknesse's glaring and huffing was starting to get on his damn nerves, though.

Harry surveyed the audience, boredom creeping into his expression. After the initial setback and his bold remark, people were less than pleased with him. Of course, it was understandable given the way they'd probably work behind someone's back instead. No direct attacks.

In the end, it didn't matter though. He wouldn't change his behavior just to follow the rules of this game.

Minister Farnes continued on, unperturbed by the shift in atmosphere.

"The budget cuts for Durmstrang are insignificant, comparatively speaking; especially when we look at the way Hogwarts is currently dealing with their own budget problems," she explained offhandedly. Her eyes were fixed on the detailed accounts she'd received earlier.

Thicknesse grunted, beyond annoyed.

"Problems? If there are any problems, you should blame Dumbledore for it," he goaded, regarding the witch with contempt. Harry rolled his eyes at the remark and he wasn't the only one.

"Ridiculous. You English are making a habit of blaming the people who aren't responsible for your mess," another elderly wizard barked, sneering at the sullen politician.

A blond witch to Harry's right perked up at that. Her voice cut through the arguments like a knife. "If you haven't noticed, Pius, Dumbledore isn't the only person overlooking the school's budget. The Board of Governors is," she went on. Her eyes brightened a bit, as if remembering something. "Oh yes. In fact, your close friend Malfoy is partly responsible for the school's most recent investments. If Hogwarts suffered cutbacks, you should talk to him, non?" she added, smirking at the moody wizard.

Other voices broke out, going back and forth like a ping-pong match, subtle accusations uttered behind fake smiles.

"Can I take a look?" Harry asked, tapping his finger against the parchment of Marit Farnes' documents.

She wordlessly slid the accounts over to him.

Investments over the last five years detailed just how much money each school had at their disposal for issues such as trust funds for poor Muggleborn students and so on. New research projects as well as the amount that went into financing their respective libraries and potions labs were accumulated. Harry could clearly see that despite Hogwarts' reputation as the oldest and most prestigious wizarding institution in Europe, it was actually Beauxbatons Academy in southern France that consistently had the most money at their disposal and also managed to increase their funds with the research that was published by the school. Headmistress Madame Maxime was unyielding when it came to money.

Harry's eyebrows rose, seeing his own school averaging somewhere in the middle. If you didn't count in the private and smaller institutions all over Europe, Durmstrang was just slightly above average in terms of publishing new magical discoveries. Apparently, Karkaroff hasn't been interested in upholding his school's reputation in that area. Instead, the money they received from their respective government and taxes was poured into book inventory and salaries. Potions Master Wilkes for example received three times the amount of money that one Severus Snape did.

It also helped that Durmstrang didn't accept Muggleborn students, unlike Hogwarts.

Harry narrowed his eyes at some of the numbers, discovering the sheer amount of "smaller investments" that Hogwarts apparently invested in for unknown reasons. The school was funding a research program that was yet unspecified and under Dumbledore's direct supervision. Apparently, Lucius had repeatedly inquired to be informed on the finer details and had threatened to sack the headmaster, but the board's majority had waved it off like it was nothing. Odd.

"Mr. Thicknesse," Harry cut in, raising his head to gaze at the elderly, stern wizard who had worked himself up on a tirade against the French earlier. The man sneered at him. Thankfully, others were curious enough to hear him out and Farnes nodded in encouragement.

"Did you manage to inquire about Dumbledore's research?" he asked, frowning in thought. "It's a lot of money that is just poured into nothing, apparently." Several others seemed to agree with him, nodding at that.

"No, we didn't. Lucius Malfoy is working on it as we speak, but so far the old fool seems uncooperative at best," Pius replied, annoyed.

One of the French representatives laughed at that. "You aren't trying that hard, are you? He seems busy with other dubious matters, isn't he? I recall Mr. Malfoy's most prestigious investment. Something about school brooms for the Slytherin team?" he mocked.

Harry chuckled slightly, eyeing the numbers with amusement. However, there was still something left to discuss.

"The thing is, the board is letting a single man get away with something he shouldn't. But it's because of this man's reputation that you are losing money for something that is of no benefit to the kids at school," he said. "To be honest, if I were a Hogwarts student, I'd still like to know what's going on," he mused.

"Why aren't you?" the blond witch asked, leaning forward to inspect him more closely.

"What?" he asked, putting the accounts aside.

She frowned at him, but continued anyway. "A Hogwarts student? You're British by birth and yet I assume you're studying elsewhere," she added. Several other people seemed curious about that.

"I told you earlier that my situation now has nothing to do with the topic at hand," he remarked. "What I do and where I study is private."

"On the contrary, Potter. You should get used to the fact that your education will be vital to our current social atmosphere. As a public figure, it is important to follow the steps of the one who slayed the Dark Lord," said an old wizard that reminded Harry of Wilkes.

The boy shifted slightly in his seat, contemplating whether he should talk about this or not. Most of these people acted like hungry sharks smelling his blood, but he could also make a stand once and for all and get them off his back. Farnes shot him a warning look, but this wasn't something that she could decide for him. Or anyone else for that matter.

Harry also caught the odd way Thicknesse was watching him now, and that seemed to increase his suspicion with what he'd learned about him.

"Well, if this is oh so important to wizarding education..." Harry said, deadpan. "I'm currently studying at Durmstrang," he said finally and that seemed to make the room explode in indignation.

"Figures," another wizard nearby murmured, no doubt having come to the same conclusion after Harry had been introduced as Farnes' protégé.

"You can't," the French representative shouted in indignation. "You're not-"

"Dark?" Harry interrupted, crossing his arms. "I wasn't aware you're that openly prejudiced, considering we have several dark wizards in attendance. Minister Farnes and Thicknesse for example," the Potter heir said, backing Pius into a corner. The way the man stiffened at that just seemed to prove it. Norway's Minister however just smiled warmly at Harry, not the least bit ashamed of her own status as a Dark Arts practitioner.

"Harry is right. Obviously, I don't appreciate your consistent bigoted remarks against my own ministry and the people of our country," Farnes exclaimed. "Besides, we aren't here to discuss the merits of Light versus Dark magic or any twisted perceptions we have of them. Harry's education is and always will be his choice only. And it's a choice I doubt other people would've given him," she mocked, insulting both the French and English at once. Pius seemed to agree with her in some way, but Harry didn't appreciate his newfound respect.

It seemed to shut up all dissenting voices, though.

"Be it that way, Potter. Once this gets out to the public, you'll have no choices left," the blond witch remarked, gazing at him in curiosity.

"We'll see," Harry said airly.

An uncomfortable silence descended upon everyone. Harry leaned back, still very much aware of the heavy gaze Pius was fixing him with.

Another question was brought up after a while.

"Where's Karkaroff, Minister? You assured us that you'd handle the situation."

Farnes regarded the somewhat young-ish, German representative and politician who was bold enough to bring that topic up with her.

"We don't know, yet. My Auror department is working on it," she said, somewhat hesitating to go into details.

"And the attack? Was anything stolen?" Pius brought up and Harry perked up, suspicion now more or less turning into solid evidence.

"Same as Berlin. These terrorists were only interested in creating chaos," she explained. Harry almost snorted at her choice of words, but unlike him, a lot of people truly believed the general impression, buying into the same bullshit that people like Minister Fudge did.

"We're here to discuss the budget problems. Let the Aurors handle the rest," one of the French said.

Harry tuned them out for the rest of the meeting, having found another more interesting person to focus on. Green eyes stared fixedly at Thicknesse who smirked back in return.

After the meeting, people quickly tried to engage him in a conversation, most likely hoping to pry into the whole Dark Arts business, but he couldn't say anything outside of the meeting, less he blow his cover. So he quickly excused himself. However, Farnes seemed to know what he intended to do. She simply nodded.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do," she whispered in his ear and then the witch proceeded to usher everyone out, skillfully engaging those sharks in meaningless conversations on their way out, leaving just one person behind who was intent to talk to Harry.

Harry watched the way the man was pretending to sort out his papers, but as soon as the Minister left, he quickly drew his wand.

"Colloportus."

Pius whirled around and eyed Harry's wand, but the boy didn't give him any chance to retaliate. Harry stepped forward until he reached the wizard, and then he proceeded to grab his arm, rolling the man's sleeve up.

The ugly tattoo of the  _Dark Mark_  stood out against the skin. It seemed to grow even darker with his proximity. The Death Eater hissed slightly, as if in pain.

"I thought so," he murmured, releasing the man's arm.

Without warning, he was suddenly pushed against the wall in return and the man's naked forearm dug deeply into his throat. Papers scattered everywhere and now it was him who had a wand pressed against his temple.

"Farnes was an idiot to leave you alone with me. I could do anything to you now, Potter. No one would know," the man said breathlessly, drawing even closer. Harry willed himself to calm down and didn't raise to the bait, instead keeping his wand loosely in his hand.

"You could," he replied tonelessly.

"And yet you're not defending yourself. I wonder why that is the case?" He paused, regarding him shrewdly, before his eyes were drawn to Harry's scar. "Karkaroff must've been very thorough in teaching you the Dark Arts. No doubt the fool thinks a mere child can prevent his death." He laughed derisively. "We know, Potter. We know everything. His pathetic attempts to save his skin. It's funny, really."

"If you know everything, why is your Lord still sending his cronies after us? Or is he too  _cowardly_  to do the job himself?"

The pain came unexpected. Pius slapped him hard, but that only made his desperate attempts to intimidate him just more unconvincing. Adults always resorted to violence when they were faced with situations they couldn't deal with. He'd had ample experience with that.

"Don't ever speak of my Lord so disrespectfully, Potter," he threatened, and that somehow made Harry laugh, seeing the maddening rage in the wizard's eyes. It was satisfying beyond words.

The politician then proceeded to drag him out of the room, no doubt intending to break the secrecy vow that was still intact as long as the occupants of the meeting room were there. Harry would have none of that, though.

He reacted on instinct, slamming his foot in the old man's knee joint. Thicknesse cried out, letting go of him as he went down.

Harry then quickly grabbed the man's wand, snapping it in two, before stepping away from the idiot.

"Always so helpless without a piece of wood," he remarked, gazing down at the struggling form of the Death Eater. "Or maybe you know some wandless magic, hm? Come on, surprise me!"

Thicknesse didn't react, though, still holding his leg as he continued glaring at him past the pain.

Harry stared down at him, waving his wand and summoning the papers from the floor. He then proceeded to cancel his own locking spell, before turning to the older wizard who was now attempting to pick himself up. He'd probably attack him bodily.

"I'll let you in on something," Harry said. "Once this whole secrecy act is out of the way, let your master know that he can do the job himself. Let him know that I'll wait for him."

Pius sneered at that. "You'll be begging for death by the time he's through with you. In fact, you should compose your epitaph, not play around with grown-ups." He was advancing on him again, but Harry turned around, opening the door. Minister Farnes was already outside, waiting patiently for him.

"Whatever. I'll deal with him then."

He crossed the threshold, before the wizard could do anything.

"Have a nice day, Mr. Thicknesse," Farnes said, clasping Harry's shoulder tightly and steering him away.

Once they were out of earshot, the witch turned to him.

"You did well, Potter. A bit forward perhaps, but you made an impression and it'll be easier for you to make a stand in the future," she murmured. Harry nodded, still holding the stolen papers in his hand. He wouldn't call directly challenging the Dark Lord easy, but sometimes you just needed to take a few risks in life.

Besides, he also needed to tell the Minister something that she probably wouldn't like. But after today's meeting his decision was more steadfast than before and Harry was confident it'd work out.

* * *

His 12th birthday was a quiet and peaceful affair, although it was the first time someone had bothered to get him gifts that didn't consist of used tissues. The house-elves had a hard time sorting out the stuff from the usual mail Harry got, meaning the less than subtle attempts to figure out his location by owl post.

Still, the gifts were thoughtful and Harry couldn't quite contain his happiness. Even Dolohov's gift, which consisted of hair-straightening products, made him laugh.

There was something liberating about having people in his life who cared enough to celebrate his existence.

He was currently working on an experimental project in the manor's extensive potions lab. The fumes were making him cough repeatedly, but he needed to be careful. The stern looking witch and Harry's ancestor was overseeing his many attempts to work on this, berating him over and over again. Nonetheless, he was determined to succeed.

Earlier that day, news have finally reached Britain and it caused another turbulent political upheaval, making Fudge stutter in nervousness before the reporters.

Even Dumbledore had intervened, urging people to remain calm while simultaneously continuing to spread around the idea that the Dark Lord was back. It was a contradictory situation and quite funny to read about.

Sometimes he wondered what Voldemort would make of this.

Harry was no longer their citizen and his records and wizarding security number have been erased completely after signing Farnes' papers. Harry recalled the conversation vividly. Farnes hadn't been happy with his decision but relented in the end, making the necessary adjustments with the help of an undercover wizard from Britain.

He fulfilled her conditions to work for the ministry, but Karkaroff's initial suggestion to make him a citizen of Norway was too restricting for Harry's tastes. He didn't want to be under someone's thumb and that meant substituting one government for another.

He was officially stateless.

Which meant no one would protect him in the upcoming war.

It was one of those risks he gambled on.

"Steady. You don't want to melt the core accidentally," Augusta Potter said, watching as Harry disassembled the last wand. Earlier he'd picked out a single strand of Dementor flesh, carefully putting the pulsing item away from the wood.

Nearby, a cauldron was almost bubbling over, the liquid ready to sanitize the wands from any residual backlash caused by his experiments.

So far, nothing indicated that these things were in any way special. Even Augusta, famed for her own skills in her time period, had remarked that Ms. Yassine's wandmaking work was standard procedure and nothing proved these things were in any way related to the so called Elder Wand, one of the Deathly Hallows.

Unfortunately, none of the wandmakers were in reach, so he'd have to write down his own theories about these objects that were sought after by the Death Eaters.

"It's supposed to enhance someone's magic, but I just don't get how?" he admitted.

"Maybe it's working like an addiction, making these wizards believe they are getting stronger, but making their magical core weaker instead. Didn't that wandmaker say, she wanted to harm the Death Eaters?" she asked, frowning in thought.

"Who knows? I don't get these people anymore," Harry admitted, not for the first time wondering what made them so different that even Karkaroff had left their cozy little group. The Potter ancestor nodded in understanding.

"The material she used is unusual. True. These wands can act like a living conscious beings, more than standard wands do. But they are not all powerful and even if that Karkaroff person thinks they can help defeat the current Dark Lord, I honestly do not see how."

Harry looked up, after finishing with the last one. His own wand was in pieces, the strands pulsing wildly, as if unhappy with what Harry had done.

"I should probably get myself another one. Just to make sure this stuff won't affect me too much," Harry said and the witch nodded.

"Try visiting Ollivander at some point. He's working with conventional material, but that doesn't mean you can't find anything useful there."

It was a suggestion he'd considered already.

Suddenly Alby popped into the room, handing Harry another letter. He quickly put his gloves away to inspect the message, gasping slightly when he recognized Karkaroff's distinct handwriting, although it was the content that would be a dead giveaway.

"It's Karkaroff," he told his ancestor and she narrowed his eyes, expecting a nasty surprise from the letter, but Harry waved her off, deciding to read what the ex-headmaster had to say now.

_To H,_

_you are a fool if you opened that letter without taking necessary precautions. And even more of a dolt for letting it get through your wards._

Harry smiled at that, but continued reading the insults anyway.

_If you're worried about my health and wellbeing, I'll let you know that I took measures that will make it near impossible for anyone else to find me. So don't try, no matter how curious you are._

_I admit, the ministry excursion was a bit of a miscalculation, since I didn't foresee that my former colleagues would follow me that closely. A mistake on my part I never want to repeat again._

_As for my general disappearance, rest assured that you weren't the decoy even if the Minister likes to pretend I'm more interested in something else. You must be aware by now. Of course you are._

_Let me warn you, Potter. You absolutely need to stay away from "the association"._

_I already knew what they'd hand over once we started looking elsewhere for your wand. In fact, I counted on it. Still I would've preferred not to see you get in contact with Yassine. But we can't turn back now. She's bad news._

_Their motives for equipping you with something they didn't want to part with has something to do with the methods the association usually employs. That I can tell._

_If you don't want to become another victim of theirs, just stay away. They might want to bring down the Dark Lord just as much as I do, but you'll get caught up in something that many wizards before you fell prey to._

_There's another thing I'd like to bring up. I assume the Minister has finally handed over something that the association was desperate to get back._

_You won't find anything if you try to "experiment" on them._

_It's not about what these objects can do to a wizard. That you have already overcome, I guess. (I watched you closely and didn't miss the lack of detail in Moline's report after what happened in your duel)._

_No, it's not about that._

_It's about what Yassine and Gregorovitch and so many others will do to you, once they have the objects and you in their possession. There's another reason why these things are called "failed experiments". I can't go too much into detail in case this finds itself in the wrong hands. What I wrote is already incriminating enough._

_But trust me, Potter. You don't want to experience what it's like to become another lab rat._

_Watch your back, Potter. Stay alert and return back to school safely. You can work for the ministry, but make sure that you aren't doing anything by yourself. These people have eyes and ears everywhere, just like my former "friends". In fact, some of the Death Eaters are spying on the Dark Lord for "them."_

_Anyway, I'll be doing my part in the shadows and you'll do yours, and I trust you will manage the world of political battles. Have fun, boy._

_I'll make sure we are the last people standing in this game. That you can count on!_

_Have a nice summer break, brat. And Happy Birthday._

_Regards,_

_K._

Harry stared at the paper in silence. The cauldron bubbled over, leaving a mess on the table that made Augusta yell at him for his carelessness.

He only registered her words vaguely.

* * *

His summer was spent running errands in the Ministry, meeting important people in secret and making first impressions, be it good or bad. He also finished working on the map for the Department of Mysteries and was now studying the mind arts day in and day out. As promised, he talked to Krum about his progress, but the only thing he managed was trying to mentally sort his memories in ways that couldn't be picked out if someone were to try and get inside his head. That in turn made him somewhat calmer and reduced his nightmares to some degree.

Farnes had often smiled knowingly at him, but he wasn't willing to indulge her.

'A year from now and this will be all over', Harry thought morosely, re-reading Hepzibah's journal as he lay in bed. He was still bothered that he couldn't figure out what the old witch meant with those numbers in the last passage.

A year from now meant he would trap Moline, get the prophecy and then make contingency plans in case it revealed bad things.

As August turned into September, newspapers continued spreading theories about him. Dumbledore continued acting against Fudge.

Britain's wizarding economy was steadily crumbling from the inside out and Hogwarts was too busy sheltering their children from the real world. He was envious of them.

There was also the matter of Thicknesse's enlightening documents. Obviously, it wasn't all that incriminating; otherwise the wizard wouldn't have let him go that easily.

But it still told him a number of things.

One. The wizard wasn't the only one involved in bribery. Huge amounts of money were spent on "meeting" with the elite of wizarding society. Subtle restriction laws on Muggleborns were constantly proposed in the Wizengamot, challenging Dumbledore's extent of power to some degree. Honestly, the old headmaster was spread thin these days, what with the attempts to undermine him all the time.

Two. Voldemort was busy recruiting. Giants, werewolves, vampires, dementors, veela. The list went on and on, but endless amounts of galleons were spent on travel expenses, more bribery, even trying to entice dark wizards who weren't bigoted against Muggleborns.

Minister Farnes was just as busy trying to undo Voldemort's damage.

And Harry was stuck playing school boy and assistant in the ministry. It was exhausting.

Yet, that didn't mean he'd have to lay low and just watch things go by. He worked up the courage to speak during meetings on Norway's dark magic education, detailing his experience in front of stuffy wizards and witches without revealing too much about Durmstrang or Moline's questionable methods.

He spoke of the importance of equal rights for Muggleborns, Halfbloods and creatures alike and continuously fought back against people who were somehow stuck in the middle ages. These issues still mattered to him. And no amount of insults and shouting matches would change that.

He couldn't imagine living in a world that had so much boundless opportunities that Muggles didn't have. And yet, wizarding society still fell prey to human flaws just as much as the people they looked down upon did.

He often imagined what his parents would say to that.

Ambition and longing to make them proud stayed with him and he carried the feeling around like a torch. Even if it meant getting caught up in fantasies about having a proper family. These emotions  _increased_  the more he immersed himself in the world of James and Lily, reading letters and accounts from a time that had been just as turbulent.

Second year began and with that Moline's torturous curriculum continued, leaving most students dissatisfied with the way he was handling things. The dropout rate increased.

"Six students killed in a violent act just outside the boundaries of Durmstrang?" Mercia translated, reading Norway's daily news out loud.

Breakfast could only be described as tense. Some people were truly worried about their safety. Not even Moline's reassurances helped.

"It's their own fault, really," Dolohov replied, shrugging.

"Right, your daddy must be happy with his pals for killing pureblood children. Truly. It's absolutely amazing, isn't it?" a student sneered, disgusted.

"Your tiny brain must've missed the part where it said it was a werewolf attack," the other boy replied.

"Hello, Greyback? The Dark Lord's lapdog?"

Several people made gagging noises at that and Harry couldn't help stifling his own reaction. Really, that was  _not_  a topic for breakfast.

"In any case, we should be safe here, as long as we don't go outside," Danielle cut in. "Besides, I'm sick of all this war talk. There are more important things we should focus on," she said.

"Like what?" Dolohov asked, taking the bait.

"The Winter ball, ladies and gentlemen."

People groaned in response and Harry tried to make himself smaller, but he didn't quite manage. Danielle's eyes zeroed in on him immediately, watching him like a delicious piece of steak.

"Come on, guys. This is the first time we're allowed to participate. We should make the most of it, right?" No one seemed to share her enthusiasm, least of all Harry.

"Potter, how about becoming my partner?" she asked brazenly and Dolohov snickered, enjoying Harry's misfortune.

"Sure, if you want to take someone along with you who can't dance," Harry replied, before taking a sip of his tea.

Absolute silence met his statement and he swore Danielle's eyes were resembling a frog that was being squeezed to death.

"What?" he asked, confused.

"You can't dance..." Danielle murmured in disbelief.

"I can't dance," Harry said.

Why were they making such a big deal out of it?

"This is simply... I don't even know what to say," Mercia said finally and now he was truly confused. Were pureblood children that spoiled? Why was dancing such a big issue anyway?

"Cut the boy some slack, people. Potter grew up with filthy Muggles," Dolohov remarked.

"I can teach him," a gruff voice stated behind them and Harry turned around to see Krum, who smiled warmly at him in greeting.

" _You_ can dance?" Filipp asked, eyeing Krum's bulky frame. Apparently, everyone assumed he had two left feet with the way he usually carried himself. Harry ignored the statement and quickly decided to accept Viktor's offer. In fact, maybe he should just take him along for the ball, so that this issue would be out of the way. Krum looked weirdly out of place in group of second years and several people were already looking their way.

Suddenly Harry noticed a small barn owl that flew over their heads, quickly landing right in front of him and holding up its leg to untie the message.

Harry quickly excused himself from the table and took a few steps away from the noisy crowd in order to use his newly reassembled wand. Diagnostic spells told him the letter was safe and Harry unrolled the parchment to read the message.

It was from Professor Moline, simply asking him to stay behind after Dark Arts classes.

The headmaster hadn't attempted to talk to him in ages, but Harry knew it meant trouble no matter what the man had to say. His eyes met the mocking gaze of the headmaster as the man raised his goblet to toast him.

So the impostor wanted to play?

* * *

After class, Harry calmly made his way over to the seat right in front of the professor's desk. Moline was still busy packing away the reference books he used for this class, taking his sweet time to draw out the meeting. It was annoying.

"You wanted to talk to me?" Harry asked, tapping his foot impatiently.

"Impudent as always, Mr. Potter. You have zero sense of propriety with the way you constantly reveal your emotions to others," Julian said dryly, his back turned to him. "It's a sign of weakness."

Harry stared, completely unimpressed with the man.

"If being weak means not acting like an emotionless robot, a fake persona that just crumbles at the slightest pressure of something emotional, then yes, I suppose I'd rather be weak," Harry replied.

He hated that attitude. The way people constantly kept going on and on about subtlety, about lulling your enemies into something deceptively pleasant, yet planning things behind their backs all the time. He was convinced that wouldn't work out longterm, no matter how enjoyable it was to manipulate others this way. There was no gain in the end, no satisfaction, especially in times of war when the worst would be revealed anyway. It was simply all about stroking your own ego.

At that, Moline turned towards him, eyes alight with mirth.

"Hm. Tell me, Potter. What would  _you do_  if the Dark Lord was standing before you now? Would you still act that way?" he breathed. "Revealing your emotional outburst to others, throwing your feelings around like a weapon?" His handsome features twisted into something decidedly less pleasant and not for the first time Harry wondered how he could put a Metamorphmagus on the spot. According to Eileen, Julian would've never looked down on others for being impassioned individuals, despite the unknown man's tendencies to pounce on weaknesses. It was another subtle clue.

"You should admit it. You would be scared," he said finally, leaving the place behind his desk.

"And?" Harry mocked, eyeing the way the man used his considerable height to intimidate him.

"So you admit it?" asked the older wizard.

Harry smirked, shifting forward as well. "Of course I'm scared. That should be quite obvious."

Moline's eyes widened at the confession, but Harry continued nonchalantly. "I spend every day trying to increase my chances in this useless war."

"Oh yes, you've been quite busy, Potter," Julian interrupted, but Harry ignored it.

"From what I've heard of the man, he wouldn't even need all of his magic to get rid of me. I'm no competition and I know that." He paused, taking a deep breath and enjoying the way his own admission was somehow liberating him. Being honest with yourself could do wonders, as always.

"But don't think my own emotions are preventing me from doing my part.  _I will fight_ , Julian. And I don't give a shit what you or anyone else says about the way I'm dealing with this war. And you know what? Karkaroff tried making me act a certain way. You're quickly filling his shoes, but I don't care," he remarked, drawing closer. It was hard to tell, but it looked like Moline was eyeing him in increasing wonder.

"I will kill Voldemort or I will die trying," he promised darkly. "But then I will make sure he goes down with me. Because the only thing this cockroach deserves is death, the very thing he wants to conquer."

The silence was delicious.

Harry enjoyed the way Moline backed away from him, but the man's shoulders were shaking and soon he was laughing hysterically, as if what Harry said was terribly amusing. He couldn't see how.

"Nice speech, Potter, " he wheezed out. "Very well. I look forward to seeing what you will do in the future," he declared and now he was smiling warmly at him, which confused the boy.

"Anyway, the Dark Lord isn't really the main topic I wanted to discuss with you today," he said eventually, calming down somewhat.

"Could've fooled me. You're quite interested in the man for someone who's so against him," Harry shot back.

"Know thy enemies, Potter."

"Right," Harry said, unconvinced. Julian dismissed the comment. Instead he regarded Harry closely, frowning a bit.

"As you've probably noticed, I'm currently dealing with the school's curriculum in different ways than my predecessor did," he explained eventually and Harry didn't quite know what to make of that.

"You're turning the students away from the Dark Arts, you mean." Or more like destroying their magic, he thought, recalling Malfoy's explanation.

"Something like that," the wizard said offhandedly, briefly letting his appreciation for Harry's observant nature show in his face. "But that is not the main point. I'm also preparing these kids for what's to come. And I want  _you_  to pay attention in the future. The magic I'm going to introduce is no child's play and it will most definitely weed out the weak. Do you want to be one of them?" Julian asked, alluding to his previous observation.

Harry let him know what he thought of that comment.

"Do your worst, sir," he said, sensing the end of the conversation.

"Certainly, Mr. Potter. I simply can't wait to see how my favorite pet project develops," Julian remarked with an amused tone.

Harry bristled at that and turned around to leave the classroom.

"Pets can turn against their masters, Professor. You should watch out," said Harry darkly. A year, he reminded himself.

That's all he needed.

And with that he left the wizard, closing the door behind him.

He couldn't wait to expose the arrogant bastard once and for all.


	14. Doubts and Warnings

"Are you alright," Harry asked, holding up his hand to help Daria back up. They were on their way to the overly crowded infirmary.

"Fine," she mumbled. Students were pushing past them to get to their next classes.

"You should be taking care of yourself, Potter," the girl said after a while, eyeing his bruises and they way he limped. "The Professor didn't hold back when it came to you."

"That's because he's a sadistic asshole. He just likes to torture me," said Harry, grimacing in pain. His leg was bothering him. He was sure he'd twisted an ankle during the last duelling session.

Another wave of dizziness hit Daria and she stumbled into him, nearly knocking him down.

"Sorry, I just-" she weezed out, holding her head. "Fuck."

Harry sympathized.

From behind them, Mercia suddenly came forward, helping both of them to move.

"You okay?" she asked, steadying the other girl.

"Peachy," Harry said. "It's a miracle we're even still alive,"

"True. Honestly, I'm about to write a formal complaint. It's outrageous that the ministry is even letting Moline get away with this," she complained.

"He has the ministry's support, unfortunately," Daria hissed. Together they reached the entrance to the infirmary, backing away slightly when another group of students left, all of them in bad states.

The Dark Arts teacher had undergone a ruthless regiment, introducing the upper years to blood rituals that required small sacrifices on their parts. Harry shuddered to think what that entailed. The fifth year students like Krum had been forced to practice channelling, a dark magic ritual that called upon higher entities to grant magic amplification. The boy had rushed to the bathroom, afterwards; most likely throwing up like so many other students have done before.

From what Harry heard, Moline berated students constantly, sneered at them and called them weak. And yet, he was also the headmaster, which meant no other teacher could do anything against it. Not that Harry thought they ever would, what with half of them in the Dark Lord's pocket.

He didn't think there would ever be a time when he'd miss Karkaroff's softer approach to anything Dark. It seems like his classmates agreed.

After a while of waiting, they were ushered into the infirmary to a section that was blocked off from the other students.

Harry quickly swallowed a pepper-up potion that was handed to him and felt its effect spreading through his body, soothing him.

"If the ministry doesn't want to do anything against him, maybe we should..." Mercia suddenly proposed, mindful of any ears that could listen in.

"Like what?" Harry asked, taking a seat beside the bed. Daria carefully laid down on it, holding Mercia's hand tightly so as not to topple over.

"I don't know, a study group maybe? Something independent at least," she voiced, frowning in thought.

"A study group would be better than what we have now, Potter," Daria mumbled. "After all, it was you who told us that Moline is doing something that could actually harm our magic. Right now I feel, like I'd never be able to cast a spell again."

Harry remembered Malfoy's warnings, but honestly couldn't recall if there was a way to counteract the overuse of Dark magic, especially at a young age.

"I don't see how we can work against it?" he said skeptically, putting away the empty vial.

"I do," someone else said, throwing the hangings aside.

"Hey Viktor," Daria greeted weakly and he quickly used his wand to cast a silencing and muffling spell around them.

"Be careful next time. Everybody could hav listened in," he groused, taking a seat beside Harry.

They nodded, falling silent, before Harry brought up the issue again.

"So how do we go about it?" he asked again, watching the older boy closely. Krum looked comatose, as if life had been sucked right out of him.

"Hav you studied healing, or practiced more poverful light magic?" Viktor asked directly.

"What do you mean by powerful? Like the patronus charm?" Mercia asked and Harry thought about the different charms one could use that were based on feeling something positive.

"That's one. But there are countless of spells. I practice them, because ve never do it in class," the Bulgarian admitted. "It helps me calm dovn."

"That's a good idea," Daria murmured, throwing the blanket over herself to get more comfortable.

Harry wasn't all that convinced.

"I found some books, but I think we need more. Besides, we'd need a place where we could do that kind of stuff in private," Harry explained. "Some of the teachers probably look down on light magic users."

Their little group fell silent again.

"Who cares what Wilkes or all these other idiots think? Personally, I'm done killing for their amusement or brewing lethal potions. That's not what I signed up for when I came to this school," Mercia complained and Harry could understand it. Her uncle Gawain Robards was a high ranking ministry employee in the Auror department back in England. And from what Harry knew, the man never liked dark magic and would've been proven right, saying that what they did was pure evil. Their family was having problems because of that.

"If it helps, we should consider doing it, but we need to find a room and a way to shut people up if they want to participate. I mean, who knows what the teachers will do to us, should they find out?" Harry said finally, leaning heavily back against his seat. His muscles ached.

Practicing light magic wasn't exactly illegal at Durmstrang, but it wasn't okay to do it either. There was too much stigma and prejudice attached to it, and it also went against the school's policy to educate students in the ways of the Dark.

Harry never wanted to be a dark wizard anyway, and he wouldn't start now, no matter how easy that magic came to him in certain areas. He didn't tell the others that he never experienced dark magic addiction like the rest of them did, though.

There were some secrets best left in the dark.

* * *

Samhain came and went, with Harry skipping the event completely. When Dolohov pestered him to attend, he told him quite frankly that he had no desire to be slobbered over by the boy again. Filipp had flushed angrily, leaving in a huff.

Moline had given him detention for skipping, but Harry didn't care.

Scrubbing cauldrons wasn't exactly his idea of a good evening, but it gave him some time to think. Professor Wilkes hadn't said anything and neither had Harry, not wishing to fill the hour with meaningless words. Yet the old, grumpy potential Death Eater was watching him like a hawk.

Harry cleaned the remaining cauldrons with almost robotic precision, thinking about the light magic lessons they would undertake after Christmas. Mercia had dedicated all her time finding a good room to practice, finally settling on an old study room in the fourth floor in an unused corridor. Rumors told that the study had been used by Grindelwald back in the days when he amassed his followers at this school.

It was also supposedly haunted.

Nobody ever stepped foot into that part of the castle.

When Harry had asked Eileen about it, she's told him that it wasn't haunted and that this rumor only came up to keep overexcited, unruly teenagers away from it. According to her, the previous headmasters had also taken everything out of the room after Grindelwald's defeat, so there was nothing left to use. Yet the man's infamous mark remained on the door.

And wouldn't that just be ironic, Harry thought, smirking to himself. Practicing light magic in that place...

After detention, Harry went back to his room to pack up the remaining books on light magic. It was a comparatively small collection, especially when he looked at all the dark arts book the school provided. But he also planned to make several copies of the tomes back in the Potter library. So that wouldn't even be an issue.

Even Mercia promised to ask her uncle about it, hoping to get some material from the Auror corps.

The days grew colder again, Harry's mood darker and his work harder.

In class, he still couldn't and wouldn't use the Avada Kedavra to kill their target, small animals that the professor conjured to torture and get rid of. Moline shot him increasingly annoyed looks, but Harry didn't care. He wouldn't bow down to the man's demands. This curse represented all the misery he experienced with his parents' murder and he wasn't about to become Moline's perfect dark wizard.

Another issue that bothered him was the man's identity and the fact that he couldn't tell other people what he knew about him. None of the students in the castle were masters in the mind arts, and he wasn't about to spill his suspicions and worries to people who couldn't protect the secrets from the teachers.

Eileen was also dismayed about it, which is why he often talked to her about his plan for exposing the man. After all, you couldn't steal secrets from the dead.

"Are you sure the map isn't outdated? For all we know the ministry layout could be completely different now and you would get lost," the ghost warned one evening. They were alone in Harry's room, currently mulling over the copied map that Danielle's mother had provided last year.

"It's a risk I need to take. I can't exactly verify it, you know?" Harry said, drawing another line on the copy. The ministry's layout was surprisingly simple, the only complicated thing being the various unknown rooms in the lower levels that were connected randomly by magic.

"The ministry has seven departments," Harry started, pointing at the various levels that were underground. "It's somewhat similar to the Norwegian one, but the problem I have is getting to the Department of Mysteries on level 9. See?" His finger pointed at a remote space that was moving randomly. "I'd usually have to take the lift, and that's too much of a risk," he said, swiping a lock of black hair away from his face. Eileen nodded, thinking deeply.

"There's no other way inside, though, except the small stairs from level 9 to 10. And besides, you'd have to figure out where the prophecy hall even is. There's also the death chamber, love chamber, time chamber, the brain room and space chamber. They're all interconnected by space shifting enchantments, Harry. That means you'd have to take a guess once you are inside the main room and entrance chamber."

"I don't want to waste my time on that," Harry huffed, frustrated.

"You can't circumvent that kind of magic from what I know. Technically you could only force a ministry employee to clear the path for you," she mused.

"You mean, using the Imperius curse again?" Harry asked, looking up.

Eileen shook her head, dismayed. "That won't work. The ministry has wards against dark magic, especially if it's used by unauthorized people. They're going to act up, if you start using the Unforgivables. Or any other kind of strong, dark magic. You'd have to dismantle the entire warding system to get past that," she explained and Harry frowned. He didn't know how to do that and even if he did, the ministry was protected by magic that's been cast centuries ago.

"You can only threaten someone without the use of magic and I doubt someone will be there to..." she paused, her lips drawn into a line. "assist you in that way. They will see the Boy-Who-Lived and it will be all over."

"You mean I can't use any concealment charms?" Harry asked, worried.

"No. Only Polyjuice Potion works and I doubt you'll manage to retrieve the prophecy in a certain time frame," Eileen elaborated, floating over to Harry's bookcase to inspect his collection. "Besides, you'd still enter illegally, even if you assume the identity of a ministry employee. Once you get the prophecy, everyone will know that either Harry Potter or Voldemort have been there to collect it, since only you can pick it up from the shelf."

"Or the one watching over these things. I could pin it down on Voldemort maybe. Frame him for it," Harry thought out loud. And wouldn't that just be funny, considering the wizard was hell bent on staying out of the public sphere for now.

Eileen smirked at him. "You could, but then your magical signature is also an issue. I doubt you'll manage to get inside without using any spells or getting rid of your signature every single time. Moreover, the ministry has the Dark Lord's signature recorded from the first war." She halted, watching him in seriousness.

"Once you do this, Harry, your life as it is now will be over. Everyone will know," she explained, and there was a sadness in her eyes that the boy didn't want to see.

Harry sighed, rubbing the spot between his eyes.

"I know."

"And still..." she murmured.

"I'm prepared, Eileen. Or maybe I think I am," he said wryly. "It's just that I tell myself that I'm doing the right things, but it's like making baby steps. There're still moments when I think all I'm doing is child's play, a kid playing with grownups."

The ghost smiled at him affectionally. "At the very least, you realize that. I was beginning to worry you're getting a big head, what with all the ministry work you're doing," she mocked.

"Me? Never." Harry laughed.

"We'll see."

And with that Harry continued to study the map, thinking about ways he could somehow trick the space shifting in the entrance hall to allow him to enter the prophecy hall directly.

One thing that he was sure of was the fact that the impostor would follow him on this special trip. Moline had let him know about the prophecy, almost  _eager_  to deliver the news, and Harry also was aware that the man knew way too much for someone who could only be a lowly follower of the Dark Lord. He'd also tracked him down in Berlin without problems and was constantly watching him, as if waiting for something.

Harry didn't feel prepared. Not really.

But that didn't mean he would back off now. Too much was at stake here in this war. Mainly his life.

He didn't survive 10 years and more in the care of his Muggle family only to throw his existence away in this conflict by doing nothing.

* * *

Students didn't really enjoy the winter ball this year. The atmosphere was tense and uncomfortable for most people, except those that embraced the darkest aspects of the Dark Arts to the fullest. Dolohov was having the time of his life, for example.

Harry was standing near the windows, dressed in stiff, uncomfortable robes. He's turned down many people who requested to dance with him, not wanting to make a fool of himself.

Midterm exams for second year students went to hell. The Dark Arts professor had given him a T for the practicals simply because Harry had been unable to throw the killing curse at another bunny. Harry was tempted to imagine the man's face during target practice next time. It would most likely work.

"Dance with me, Potter," Dolohov suddenly asked, appearing right beside him. He looked good, in that sort of ostentatious way of his.

"Such a charming offer, but I have to decline," Harry said dryly.

"Oh come on. You can't just refuse people and stand here like a fool waiting for something to happen," Filipp slurred, throwing an arm over Harry's shoulder and dragging him to the dancefloor.

"If you didn't notice, I'm only here, because it's mandatory," Harry hissed, grabbing the boy's arm and pulling away. They were already making a scene.

The taller student didn't listen, instead wanting to assume the position of the lead. Harry was having none of that, though. He simply grabbed the boy's hand and started to dance with him, deliberately stepping on the boy's toes. Filipp winced, but let himself be led across the dancefloor.

People snickered at them, pointing fingers.

"At Samhain, you had no problem skipping it. I missed you," Filipp mocked and in retaliation Harry twirled him around, nearly letting go of the boy. It would serve him right.

"Detention with Wilkes isn't quite as fun as I imagined."

"Too bad."

Both boys stared at each other some more, their less than graceful dance coming to an end.

"Remember how I mentioned that I pitied you?" Dolohov whispered suddenly, drawing closer. Harry's eyebrows rose in surprise. He remembered it vaguely, although he never figured out what the other student meant by that.

Harry remained silent, though, and Filipp gave him a bitter smile in return.

"It still stands, Potter. Whatever you're doing, don't do it. Too many things will go wrong if you continue to piss people off," the boy warned. Harry was confused.

"What do you mean?" he asked, murmuring into the boy's ear. The attention was still on them.

"Can't tell. My life would be on the line if I told you too much. Just stay away from certain people," Filipp hissed and Harry caught the way the boy briefly looked at their headmaster who was still positioned near the head table, enjoying his wine.

Dolohov let go of Harry and shuffled away, leaving the Potter heir in a state of unease. What the hell was going on?

* * *

"No matter what prejudices you hold, I'm telling you from experience that magic is magic and the intent behind it is much more important than any labels you put on it," Harry concluded and there was conviction in his voice. He was watching the assembled group of old wizards and witches in the ministry closely.

Most of them looked like he was talking nonsense.

It was another session of wizarding education and the financing of dark magic research for their respective institutions all over Europe.

"That may be the case, Potter. But you can't deny that the magic you study is inherently negative in nature. So I don't see the reason why we should hand over 5000 Galleons for a project that uses magic to potentially hurt someone," the old wizard grumbled.

"Fjodor, you're being unreasonable," Farnes said, eyeing him in distrust. "The money is used to work on distinguishing between the type of emotions to cast certain spells. We're not torturing babies, no matter what you imagine that happens behind closed doors," she explained.

"How can we make sure this is ethical? How can we possibly determine that?" another wizard spat, getting progressively more agitated.

"Send your supervisors and it should be fine," Harry retaliated, leaning back in his seat. His headache was killing him.

"That's 2000 Galleons more. I refuse to support something as outrageously expensive as this," Fjodor hissed. "Certainly not because a little boy like you says so."

And there it was again. The lack of respect that Harry faced day in and day out because of his age. Some people might overlook it, but wizards like Fjodor Gladow remained stubborn, using their own personal history as arguments against dark magic. Harry recalled that this man had been a victim of Grindelwald's war.

He cursed all dark lords for putting such a stigma on it.

"If you don't want to listen. That's fine. I'm done here anyway," Harry said finally, standing up and walking past the others to leave the room. Not even Farnes' sudden attempts to calm him down worked.

He closed the door behind him, effectively cutting off the murmurs and whispering, the disparaging comments against him. Harry returned to the office, tired and fed up with everything.

Earlier that day, Farnes had confined in him, telling him that she'd known all along that something was wrong with the current headmaster of Durmstrang, but she was doing nothing except waiting for him to expose himself. She'd given the man a warning, though, telling him that he would face serious consequences if he didn't stop damaging the magic of the younger students in his mad conquest to turn them into warriors. Still, it rattled Harry that she never told him of her suspicions in the first place.

Another hour of waiting, and the Minister returned, closing the door behind her and erecting a privacy ward to keep other people out.

"You're getting cocky," she stated, making her way over to her seat.

Harry didn't bother to argue that.

She poured herself a drink and waved her wand to conjure more cups.

"Not only are you getting cocky, you're proving them right. You keep doing whatever you want and you know what? I'm bearing the brunt of their anger," she concluded, watching him in that way that unnerved Harry.

"If you're so unhappy, we can stop doing this," Harry voiced. "It's not like people take me seriously anyway," he added bitterly.

"It's your own fault. It's  _your fault_  for being such an open book to people, Potter. You let your emotions control your responses and it's putting them off. Right now I'd guess you have more enemies than I do," she stated wryly.

"I will always have more enemies than you," Harry said, amused despite the turn in this conversation. He could pretend to be the perfect politician, skilled conversationalist and manipulator, he could do all that and people would still hate him. Dark and light wizards alike. It was pointless.

"You'd be surprised how many people would follow you in a heartbeat if only you bothered to act like an adult."

"I'm twelve," said the Potter heir, his voice as dry as sandpaper.

Farnes threw her hands up in defeat.

The silence between them however was pleasant and Harry's thoughts returned to what he planned to do during summer break. There were still a couple of things left to figure out, but he did think he knew how to get past the entrance hall.

"I acknowledge that I'm putting a lot of pressure on you," the Minister said, breaking past Harry's thoughts. She watched him calmly. "I know that it's not normal for you to do all the things I'm forcing on you, the negotiations, the contract drafts. But the war is progressing and that's the only way I know how to deal with it. It's the only way to protect my country. To protect us," she stated, and there was a sense of desperation in her voice that Harry never noticed before. Farnes always looked strong, unwavering in her beliefs.

She wasn't.

"Did Voldemort do something?" he asked, hesitating a bit.

"Do something?" She laughed, almost hysterically. It took a while for her to calm down.

"He's always doing something. I had Death Eaters crawling in my ministry, sniffing out weaknesses. We had to deal with the bad press that came up after they attacked and somehow managed not to leave a speck of evidence to use against them. It's humiliating," she admitted, bowing her head. Harry noticed her somewhat unkempt appearance and the stress that lined her face.

"He's still busy gaining allies and it's a slow process, but the fact remains he's getting them right under my nose and in my own country, Potter. I had to deal with a proposed embargo on Muggleborn students wishing to learn the Dark Arts. They wanted to restrict access to teaching material for people who aren't attending Durmstrang," she breathed out heavily. "I can't even protect my own citizen from his mad hatred." Her desperation was evident in her tone and she locked stricken. Harry didn't know how to deal with that.

It was worrying. To hear how much power this man wielded. How much damage he could do from a distance.

Harry wanted to defeat him, to stop it, but he truly didn't know how.

"I-," he started, and he reached out to touch her hand, offering comfort in the only way he knew. He was still a bit worried that she was prone to keep secrets from him. But that didn't mean he'd shut her out.

"I will do my best," he said finally, meeting her gaze.

Her eyes softened at that and she squeezed his hand in return. "Of course. I don't expect anything else from you," she said calmly. "You're still doing better than others would in your position. You intrigue people, draw them in with your beliefs. It's something we can use to get Voldemort's allies away from him, especially those that are undecided. And to do that, the only thing left is for you to announce your existence to the world. To let others know that there's an option left in this war, Potter."

"I know," Harry whispered, thinking that it would happen soon.

Maybe he wasn't ready for that.

But he needed to be.


	15. Checkmate

"The wards are in place, my Lord" Severus Snape murmured, bowing lowly to his master. Peter watched the entire exchange in a state of frightened curiosity. Only the three of them were currently present in the man's office, but he might as well have been invisible with the amount of the attention the Dark Lord and Snape paid to him.

Not that it mattered much.

The conversation, though, has been quite interesting so far.

"Make sure that it will work properly," Voldemort remarked, watching the Potions Master closely. Peter didn't dare looking at their Lord for too long, but he knew the Dark Lord was watching Snape's every move, a reptile eyeing its prey.

Snape remained completely unaffected, which surprised Peter. How could the man remain so stoic in their Lord's presence? How was he doing it? There wasn't even a hint of fear in the man's black eyes; neither respect or any other type of emotion. If he could describe it properly, the closest thing that came to his mind was a blank canvas, a person more dead than alive.

"It will be done," Snape reassured and the Dark Lord dismissed him, waving his hand to open the door. Snape left without another word.

Peter looked up again and noticed how his Lord's lips curled upwards after the door closed, a twisted form of a smile.

It looked disturbing. It also didn't bode well for the poor individual who would be affected by those wards.

* * *

Harry was making sure he'd taken everything with him, taking a last look around the master bedroom in Potter manor.

The manor could be called the pride of every potions master, but unfortunately there were no masters left in the family to utilize their extensive inventory, which was a shame, really. Charlus Potter had been mostly concerned with other things and both James and Lily never bothered to visit this house. Harry himself had no plans to work on becoming a master, knowing quite well that his skills were limited in that area.

He sighed, eventually leaving the room.

His house-elves knew what they had to do in case he never returned.

Returning back to Durmstrang for the next term was somewhat pointless, since their education was suffering anyway. But Harry also recalled that they would go through with their little study group, if all went according to plan. He was kind of excited to start with that. But before that, he still had one week of relaxation left, which he wanted to use to work on some other skills.

Harry stepped into the living room, ignoring his ancestors, as he made his way over to the fireplace.

The Department of Magical Transportation had no authority over the Potter manor anymore, and what Harry was doing now was technically illegal, but there was no other way around it, since he was stateless. His house was now semi-registered in Norway's ministry, but they had placed restrictions on the amount of travel he could do via Floo Network. Farnes would know where he travelled to, which was a bit annoying, but not all that concerning as of now.

He took some Floo powder, stepped inside the fire and called "Krum Residence, Sofia, Bulgaria" out loud. The green flames engulfed him and he was whisked away to another country.

Stumbling out of the fireplace, Harry was instantly caught by strong arms that supported him.

"Velcome, Harry," The Bulgarian greeted, steadying the younger wizard.

"Sorry for the less than graceful arrival," Harry said, trying to get rid of the soot on his cloak.

"Didn't expect anything else from you," Krum teased and they both straightened. But before Harry could take in his surroundings, he was tackled by two other people, almost falling to the ground this time.

"Eh-help, please?" he called, but the two, little girls didn't want to let go of him. They started greeting him excitedly in a language he didn't understand, repeating his name over and over again and Harry scratched his head, feeling awkward.

Viktor chuckled, eyeing the trio in amusement, before he said something Bulgarian to free the younger student.

"My sisters, Maria and Valentina. They are fans of you," he explained, and Harry greeted them with a smile. Eventually, he was able to extract his arms, using the opportunity to draw his wand in order to enlarge his trunk.

"Follov me. I'll shov you to your room," Krum said and together they left the small living room, followed by Viktor's sisters, who were watching excitedly as Harry levitated his trunk in front him.

"It's not much, but I hope you can feel comfortable," Viktor said, opening a door right at the end of the corridor. Harry eyed the cream-colored wooden panels, the somewhat outdated furniture, but it felt like home, no matter how poor the Krums were.

"It's perfectly fine, Viktor. Thanks for having me," Harry replied, laying a hand on the boy's shoulder and smiling warmly at him.

"You're velcome," the Quidditch star said, watching him kindly in return. "Ve vill have dinner soon. You can use the time to unpack and I'm going to tell my father that you're here," he said eventually.

Harry nodded and they parted ways. The girls followed their brother, waving at Harry one last time before they left.

He crossed the room, making his way over to the small window, looking at the snowflakes that melted against the pane.

* * *

"You have to try harder, Viktor. I'm not made of glass," Harry said, focusing on the boy's eyes when he felt the other invading his mind. They've been practicing both Legilimency and Occlumency for hours now and the only thing that happened were some faint memories that were transferred back and forth between them. Nothing too serious or humiliating of their pasts, but more like impressions of something, snapshots of an event.

Sweat was gathering on his forehead and his scar tickled a bit, but he used Krum's distraction to push him out again. The force of his attempt almost got him sucked right back into the boy's head, but at the last possible second Harry resisted the pull.

"It's harder than I thought," Krum panted, rubbing his cheek. They were both out of breath and if they didn't stop soon, a migraine would most definitely kick in.

"And we still need a tutor." Harry stood up on shaky legs, feeling tired. His magic and body weren't accustomed to fighting back against mind magic of that kind.

"I vas still hoping ve could do vithout one," the other boy said and together they left the makeshift training room to join the rest of the family. Viktor didn't have much time for himself, but during holidays it was usually him and not the extended family members that took care of his father.

Harry had met him today, a somewhat easygoing man who suffered from schizoaffective disorder. Viktor's dad was also the nicest person Harry had met so far when it came to adults. The man spoke fluent English, having worked more than 15 years in the foreign relations department of the Bulgarian's Ministry.

They could talk for hours and not even once did Harry feel like he was being challenged to do something or put down because of his age.

It was an incredibly nice feeling.

"Are you done with your exercises, boys," the old man called from the kitchen and Harry observed quietly as he prepared lunch, cutting tomatoes manually. Krum Sr. wasn't allowed to do magic anymore.

"Yes, father. Ve are doing vell, more or less," his son replied, taking another bowel of fresh vegetables to cut. Harry shuffled over to the table quietly.

"You're exaggerating. It's actually terrible," Harry clarified and Viktor hissed, mock-offended that he was described as less than perfect.

His dad chuckled in amusement, touching Viktor's head to mess up his hair. Not that it did much, what with the buzz cut.

"Haaawy," Maria suddenly called from the door, jumping up and down and Harry turned around to watch as she suddenly threw herself forward at him.

"Booom," she said and Harry watched her in confusion as she made more noises, imitating some sort of explosion. His lack of understanding seemed to frustrate the little girl and she pouted at him.

"I have no idea what's going on, sorry," he said, knowing full well she couldn't understand him. Their father only ever made a point to teach his girls their mother tongue.

"Booooom," she said again, pointing at something to the left. The radio that had been playing some popular song from the Weird Sisters suddenly switched to the news and Harry listened without understanding it. A stoic voice reported on one thing or another, but Harry saw the way both Krums stiffened in worry. Viktor's father shook his head and put down the kitchen knife. He excused himself.

"What's going on," Harry asked after a while, feeling unsure. He let go of Maria's hand and Viktor said something to her in Bulgarian, making her leave again to join their father.

"There vas an attack..." Viktor started. "They reported that our Minister of Magic vas assassinated, killed by an explosion."

* * *

Returning back to Durmstrang was safer than staying in a country that underwent such political upheaval. Krum had decided to stay behind, taking care of the family and hoping to relocate them somewhere else. Harry had offered his manor as a safe house, but the boy had declined.

Their headmaster allowed him a special leave only because Krum was a dedicated student. But Harry needed to be back.

It still unnerved him that the officials hadn't managed to figure our who had done it; two weeks after the assassination. The only factual report included details about a controlled explosion in the office, nothing else.

And it didn't get sorted out months later.

May approached and a gentle warmth settled inside the castle's walls. Birds chirped and Bowtruckles were wandering the gardens. They were difficult to spot due to their tree-like discoloration, but students made a point to stay away from them if they encountered one.

Classes were as difficult as ever and Harry continued disobeying Moline if he found some of the man's teaching methods too reprehensible.

Luckily, their little undercover study group was going quite well now that Daria had forced all participants to sign a contract of non-disclosure.

Still, Harry's plan for the end of the year loomed over his head, keeping him awake at night and distracted at practice.

" _Expecto Patronum_ ," he chanted again, producing the same mist that vaguely looked like a four-legged animal. His memory wasn't sufficient perhaps, but it was kind of difficult to think of something more substantial than fond memories of reading his parents' letters.

Yet, he knew he was getting there.

His classmates weren't any closer to working it out, but it didn't deter them from trying again and again.

"It must be this room, Potter. It's kind of hard relaxing in Grindelwald's hovel." Danielle craned her neck, pointing at the various torture instruments, portraits and general creepy, slimy garbage that was littering the man's study.

"We should get rid of this stuff," another student remarked, shuddering and eyeing the blood-crusted claw that was pinned down on the nearby wall where he stood.

"You do that. I don't want to catch any diseases," Daria said and Harry rolled his eyes.

"We have magic, you know. You don't have to touch anything in here," he explained, pointing his wand at the claw-like object and casting a spell to get it out.

Unfortunately, his spell had the opposite effect. Instead of breaking off, a sound similar to a growl broke off their chatter, frightening some of the first and second years. And another claw appeared right next to the one already there, dripping with fresh blood.

"Eh, let's leave it at that." Harry stepped back, scratching his head.

The accusing stares he got in return were certainly something.

* * *

"How're you doing, Potter?" Dolohov interrupted, breaking the silence in their shared room. There was concern in his eyes, which the other student dismissed. Harry's scribbled down the last part of his calculation on the parchment and with a wave of his wand the scroll disappeared, safely hidden from prying eyes.

"Fine. Will be back in a minute," Harry replied, ignoring the other. He left the dorm and sped up his steps to reach the Owlery.

He had a letter to sent and knew that he couldn't waste more time holding this off.

Tomorrow, he would leave for the ministry, which meant timing needed to be perfect.

As soon as Hedwig saw him, she flew down, landing gracefully on his shoulder and nipping his ear in affection.

"Hey girl." Harry stroked her shining, beautiful feathers and she preened under his touch.

"Could you take this to Minister Fudge, please? And don't wait for a reply, okay?" he asked and his owl gave him a curious stare in return, but complied. He bound the letter to her leg, making sure that every single charm and protection spell was in place. Hedwig flew off, a white spot against the sunset.

There was no turning back now.

* * *

Harry's cloak would protect him from being spotted immediately on the streets in the middle of the night. His wand was safely hidden and the only thing he pocketed were about a hundred of his small devices that took almost half a year to develop properly. Ironically, it was a certain attack that had given him that idea, but it was worth it.

Nevertheless, he would only use them as a last resort.

Dolohov was sleeping like a baby, which meant it was easier for Harry to slip away.

He closed the door and hurried to get to the entrance hall. No one was loitering the corridors and the only thing he needed to avoid was Durmstrang's caretaker, a frail, old man that drank too much and never paid attention to the students anyway.

Stepping outside into the warm night cleared his head, but Harry's nerves were messing with him. He continued onward, mindful of any onlookers while he took the long walk to reach the trees just beyond the school's protection wards. It almost seemed like a lifetime ago when he took the same path to question the wandmaker.

Harry halted his steps, breathing in and out and calming his racing heart. And then, he crossed the barrier and triggered the wards deliberately.

A certain headmaster would know now.

Without hesitation, he instantly withdrew a small, illegal portkey that Minister Farnes had constructed for him.

"Checkmate," Harry whispered, tapping the object with his wand.

It took him away; a long journey away from Durmstrang back to London without any halts in between.

Landing right in the middle of Whitehall, Central London was a bit confusing, but what confused him even more was that Farnes had succeeded in creating the portkey in such a way that he appeared right in the Atrium. Her inside source must've helped her out with that, since he had prepared himself to use the visitor's entrance.

The Ministry of Magic was lax in security, even at night.

If he knew how to Apparate, he could've done that instead and there were no alarm systems in place to prevent people from using the Floo network. It was kind of pathetic, but Harry also knew he couldn't underestimate the security system, having discussed the details with Eileen extensively.

The lower level would be more of a challenge.

He was currently on level 8 and the reception hall was a relatively wide space decorated in dark, polished wood that didn't look very inviting to outsiders. Since the fireplaces weren't lit, most of the light was the artificial one outside the numerous glass panels that were located higher up.

Halfway down the hall Harry could see the infamous fountain with its golden statues centered in a circular pool. Upon closer inspection, Harry frowned at the depiction of a regal wizard on top, surrounded by groveling looking creatures. It was completely inaccurate from textbooks, as Harry knew. Centaurs for example despised humans in general and would never bow down to a wizard.

This place was...so different from Norway's ministry.

He couldn't linger much, though. As predicted, the stairs leading to each floor were blocked off by a gold-shimmering barrier, which he couldn't cross unless he wanted to bring down the entire Auror department on him.

He was also  _being followed_.

Harry's lips curled up and he hunched his shoulders to appear unaware of his companion. Carefully, he looked around and located the lift that would bring him down to level 9. Inside the tiny space, the eerie voice announced which way he wanted to go. And so he left, mindful that it wouldn't take long.

It was cold down here. And quite dark as well.

"Level 9, Department of Mysteries," the voice announced and he stepped outside, knowing he would be trapped from now on if the lift was blocked off by someone else.

The black-tiled walls were completely bare save a single door at the end of a narrow corridor. Torches, which would usually provide light, weren't working, so he waved his wand, creating a blue-white light. Level 10 was blocked off by the same barrier.

His magical signature would be all over the place now.

Harry checked whether the door had any enchantments on it that were designed to keep outsiders away. Surprisingly, it was safe.

'I don't know what Fudge is thinking,' he murmured, shaking his head. It was disappointing, really.

He touched the handle and entered the Entrance Chamber, a circular room shrouded in complete darkness except the small candles that were already lit but only provided scarce light. As expected, twelve doors without handles would make his job difficult. Remembering the map, Harry knew that the Prophecy Hall was located near the Brain Room, a complex arithmetic formula that created a pentagram within the space shifting magic. He needed to find the brain room first and the rest would be mental calculations. And so he called for an opening, randomly picking a door.

The first room, from what he could see without entering, was the Space Chamber with all its floating planets obscuring the place. If he weren't in such a hurry, he would've liked to explore the place a bit more.

Whenever a door closed, the walls would instantly rotate, the sound creating a noise way too loud for Harry's tastes. And on it went. He started cutting symbols into the door to make sure he'd already checked. And finally, he came upon the Brain Room with its low-hanging lamps and tanks full of...substances he didn't want to inspect closer. Harry stepped outside and started thinking.

Four to the left, then six to the right and then again six to the left.

Harry pointed his wand in the right direction, opening the target and found himself confronted with a light that almost lulled people to sleep.

He stepped inside and ignored a weird-looking bell jar while passing through the room, finally reaching an incredibly wide space; the Prophecy Hall if he was correct.

It certainly looked like one with its thousands of orbs placed on endless rows of shelves. The orbs emitted a strange sort of aura, almost peaceful to him. Yet, he couldn't wait longer. Remembering Moline's detailed description, he made his way over to the row that should indicate where his own prophecy was located.

It took quite a while and a simple point-me spell didn't work. But eventually he found the orb with its tag spelling S.P.T. to A.P.W.B.D. Dark Lord and (?)Harry Potter.

Odd.

Yet, he felt a sense of closeness, as if this small object called to him. Only he could touch it and from what he could tell Voldemort hadn't done anything to the glass sphere yet.

" _Protectionem Revelio_ ," Harry called, but nothing happened. Deeming it safe, or as safe as it could be, Harry reached out and touched the orb, picking it up carefully.

Nothing happened.

But it felt incredibly warm to his hands.

Now if only he could get it out and listen to the prophecy in private.

"Hand it over, Potter," a voice said from behind him.

Of course.

His stalker was right on time. Harry gripped his own wand tightly, mindful that the man was pointing his wand at him.

"Hello, Professor," the boy said calmly, turning around slowly.

The pleasant features of Julian Moline were staring right back at him, or more accurately at the object he still held in his hand.

"You must feel so accomplished now," Harry stated, knowing he needed just a bit more time, a distraction.

Thankfully, Moline was the type to gloat, possessing an ego that could be coaxed out with measured words.

"Not really. After all, it was me who told you everything you needed to know," the wizard replied, returning Harry's gaze.

"True, and I did everything you wanted me to do, like an obedient pet," Harry challenged, undeterred. His wand was at the ready.

Moline smirked and made a small step forward.

"Then be a good pet and hand it over." His voice took on a very commanding tone. Apparently, he was already done playing around.

"Why? I don't see your name on it."

They were at a stalemate, eyeing each other coldly.

"Before you curse me six ways to hell, I just want to know one thing, Julian," Harry started, still playing for time. He played around with the orb a bit, pretending it was loosely held in his hand. Easy to destroy. The other wizard caught on, but he listened anyway.

"Why the torture in class? Why the whole talk about letting me defeat the Dark Lord and getting power? You don't seem like the type to even want the Dark Lord's death." Harry stood his ground, serious. He had his suspicions of course, but it would be nice to see it confirmed.

"I told you, boy. I'm not loyal to the Dark Lord, although-" the man paused in his explanation, shrugging. "I used to be, of course."

"Do you take me for a fool?" Harry exclaimed. "I can put two and two together. We know you're not Julian Moline. Eileen knows, Malfoy knows. So try to be straightforward for once in your life. Or is that impossible now that you're so used to lying and faking your way through life?"

Julian smiled in return, watching him as if he were a disobedient child in need to be punished, or pitied.

"Ah, I seem to recall Malfoy's unusual disappearance." He waved his hand, dismissing the matter. "Anyway, I'll let you in on my harmless plan, since I don't plan on killing you anyway, Potter."

Harry frowned at that.

"You see, I am deliberately weakening future generations of Death Eaters, turning people away from the Dark Lord's agenda by making them  _hate it_. And it works, as you've seen," he explained cheerfully, and there was a disturbing gleam in his eyes.

"No, it really doesn't." Harry said without emotion. "The kids are running back straight to their parents, most likely getting private education by now and turning into good, little, brainwashed soldiers for Voldemort. You have zero authority over them."

"Be it as it is," Julian interrupted, completely unaffected. "We're still on the same side, Potter. Our methods might be slightly different, but you'll see reason once I take you with me-"

"Take me where?" Harry asked, alarmed, but he was drowned out by a huge explosion from upstairs that made several shelves topple over. Orbs started to fall down, shattering upon contact. He didn't know where that explosion came from or what caused it and his ears were still ringing.

But he used the distraction, quickly withdrawing his small device from his pocket and activating it with a murmured spell.

His aim was perfect. Throwing the device at the man's legs, it exploded upon contact, a small-scale explosion that would still hurt incredibly.

Moline cried out, falling down hard and Harry ran, not even looking back once.

" _Stupefy_ ," he called, bringing more orbs down.

Shutting the door, he made sure that his prophecy was carefully hidden beneath his robes.

Now where to?

Fuck, he didn't have the time to search. Blasting several doors open one after another, he finally found the Entrance Chamber, but he knew that he lost priceless minutes.

He needed to get to the Atrium, preferably  _on time_. Shutting the black door, he knew he couldn't hold Moline in there for too long. Didn't even want to.

He reached the lift, thankful that it wasn't destroyed yet. It was incredibly slow-going.

Upon entering the reception hall, Harry suddenly knew he was in big trouble and for a moment he contemplated running back where he came from.

The Atrium was crawling with Death Eaters and odd looking witches and wizards fighting against each other fiercely. A fallen Death Eater smashed right into the wall next to Harry, the debris created from the impact temporarily blinding him.

More explosions rocked the building, people were Apparating constantly within the Atrium. Spells flew over their heads in rapid succession.

Harry watched as severely hurt Death Eaters reached the fireplaces, some of them hoping to escape. His heart sank when he noticed that his only way out was blocked off. They stumbled right back, hitting a dead end.

Their enemies must've done something.

Apparating was the only option left. He couldn't.

Tapping his wand against his illegal portkey also proved to be unsuccessful, some kind of magic preventing it from being activated. Calling a house-elf was also useless.

And he still needed to wait for someone...

Harry's mind ran over various scenarios, but he only came to a single conclusion when he noticed an incredibly powerful wizard arriving at the scene. He recognized him instantly.

Albus Dumbledore appeared near the fountain in all his splendid, eccentric glory. He radiated magic, watching impassively over those fighting, before his blue eyes began searching for something. Or someone.

Harry's insides froze in fear and he stumbled back, waving his wand to disillusion himself. It wouldn't hold against a wizard such as Dumbledore, but he needed the safety of invisibility.

Fuck, he couldn't wait. To hell with Moline and his blasted fake identity. He needed to get out of here.

Looking around quickly, he decided on his last option in case it came down to a confrontation with these people.

He dodged spells left and right, dropping more of his devices. A cutting curse hit him somewhere on his upper arm, and Harry hissed in pain, stumbling a bit. Someone else smashed into the spot right where he's stood just seconds ago.

He continued dropping them all over the Atrium, murmuring the spell again and making sure that they would blend in with their surroundings until it was time to activate them properly. It took ages and by the time he was done, the Hogwarts headmaster must've spotted him countless times.

He reached one of the fireplaces right behind the statue and Dumbledore turned around, not doing anything.

And then he felt it.

The most insidious, frighteningly powerful and potent, dark magic he'd ever felt.

It  _called_  to him.

Recognized him even.

"Tom," Dumbledore called, a pleasant greeting, yet his eyes were hard, hinting at the nature of that encounter.

The person was somewhere to the left, not too far away from Harry's current position.

"My Lord," several Death Eaters cried and Harry felt his scar bursting in pain. He barely could keep himself from crying out, but his spell failed him.

The boy knew as soon as the invisibility disappeared that everyone could see him quite clearly. And what a sight he must make. With blood stains on his sleeve and holding his head in pain.

Yet, Harry couldn't allow himself to go down like that, couldn't reveal his weaknesses so blatantly to his enemies.

Certainly not to  _Him._

Harry straightened himself, knowing that several wands were pointed his way now. He looked past Dumbledore whose gentle eyes were fixed on him.

"Harry," Dumbledore whispered, and his voice created an echo in the chamber, now that the fighting had temporarily halted.

The Potter heir didn't pay him any attention, even as several people drowned out the man's whisper, shouting his name, staring at him in disbelief. From somewhere to the right near the lift, Malfoy was looking at him as well, a wry smile on his face.

But he didn't pay him any attention either. Couldn't. Not when his very own nightmare was present.

And so close to him.

The young boy lifted his head, turning around to meet his adversary properly. His eyes forced themselves to look the monster in the eyes, to see the reality of his tormentor for the first time.

And it was so much worse.

Because Lord Voldemort wasn't a monster.

No.

He was but a middle-aged man, albeit an extremely compelling man, exuding mouth-watering dark magic with everything he possessed.

He stood tall, imposing, as if the whole world was destined to bow at his feet.

His eyes, crimson, the shade of blood encompassing authority and death, locked with his own. Not even once did the man look away.

Not once.

Harry didn't allow himself to blink, but inside him the fear, hatred and confusion made his blood boil.

He should've known, of course.

It was so much easier creating a monster in your head, blaming a hideous, irrational creature for everything that ever happened to Harry. Facing a man, however, a human, was like facing reality itself. And reality, as always, was much more complicated than that.

Harry didn't allow himself to show his fear, though. Not in front of this man. Instead, he acted on instinct, which always told him what to do in situations that were too difficult to handle rationally.

He lifted his arm and the Dark Lord's eyes followed the movement, transfixed.

Carefully, Harry pulled out the prophecy orb, holding it tightly in his hand.

"Looking for this?" he whispered darkly and his eyes took in every single detail of the dark wizard. The way his eyes widened slightly, before a deep sense of pleasure and satisfaction settled in the man's gaze.

Behind him, Dumbledore, repeated his name again and Harry shot him a look, not wanting to get caught in any surprise attacks.

Then the Anti-Apparition wards snapped into place, preventing further attacks. Harry didn't know whether it was Dumbledore or the Dark Lord who'd done it, since neither of them had pulled out their wands. But Harry recognized the feeling of distinct pressure surrounding the area. The two powerful wizards didn't seem bothered in the slightest, though.

"Harry Potter," Voldemort said, pronouncing his name carefully. "The Boy-Who-Lived."

Annoyance briefly twisted Harry's own features and he decided that attacking was simply the best option.

"I could make a fortune with the amount of time people keep repeating my name," Harry said coldly, toying with the orb.

"Stand aside, Harry," Dumbledore called, worried, but again the younger wizard didn't listen.

"No, let's cut through the chit-chat," Harry interrupted, watching the Dark Lord closely. The man's expression was completely closed off now.

"You will all let me go unharmed, with the prophecy intact, or..." Harry paused, smiling at them. "You will all  _die_."

His words created another terrifying moment of complete silence. And then, people started laughing, having the audacity to mock him in front of everyone.

Harry, feeling his own pulse reaching a breaking point, understanding that he needed to do it, murmured the word.

A nearby device exploded, its powerful effect ripping into two Death Eaters and one armed wizard from Dumbledore's group. Blood splattered across the floor, and limbs were torn apart, pieces of flesh seemingly flying everywhere. Then the screaming began, its sound breaking through the laugher and making the soldiers in both groups panic.

Dumbledore's face darkened in both sadness and slight dissatisfaction and yet Harry's work had the desired effect on people. He rationalized his actions with self-defense again, numbing himself to what he'd done.

When he looked up, Voldemort's eyes were burning into him, tracing his features in detail, losing the impassive expression completely.

Harry couldn't deny that the stare unnerved him.

"Professor Dumbledore must've seen my progress. I've planted several explosives all across the Atrium and all it takes is my word to bring this whole hall down. So what will it be?"

"Then we simply need to silence you, brat," a Death Eater sneered, raising his wand. Harry wanted to retaliate, but someone else beat him to it. Another person crashed into the masked man, throwing him down, before a wand was ripped from the wizard's unresponsive hands.

Right on time.

Moline looked as if he'd battled a hurricane and the man's previous disguise was flickering, twisting shape and taking on another.

Only extensive pain could unsettle a Metamorphmagus and that is what Harry had counted on, a gamble that paid off now. He was trying to see whether he could recognize the man.

And he already believed that it was an ex-Death Eater, well aware that this ability was hereditary, which didn't leave many English pureblood families left that fit the category.

Julian was limping and there was a good chunk of skin and flesh missing from his leg. Harry had only used one of the minor explosives on him and yet he knew the wizard would be permanently disabled if he didn't fix that soon.

Skin bubbled, bones reformed and Julian's features disappeared slowly. But the unknown wizard didn't care, using the opportunity to advance on Harry with the stolen wand.

"Sorry, my Lord. But I caught Potter first. Find yourself another one," Not-Julian singsonged, completely unafraid, glancing sideways at Voldemort.

"Regulus Black," the Dark Lord voiced and there was a displeased quality to his voice that Harry caught instantly.

The traitor finally revealed himself.

Death Eaters shouted and Dumbledore's men began to engage them in a fight. In his haste to get away from Black, Harry activated several other explosives, drawing his wand and pointing it at the man.

" _Sequentum Animae_ ," he chanted, and a creature purely made out of black smoke charged at the man.

" _Protego_ , stupid boy. You've learned all your tricks from me," Black shouted, protecting himself from Harry's spell. Harry also caught someone else's gaze, a person who was ducking behind a statue now, standing next to Dumbledore.

"Hello Minister Fudge," Harry called, knowing that the Minister must've seen Black and Voldemort in action by now. He'd thanked all higher deities for having the foresight to tell the man to arrive via the Floo Network in his own office, which would not be affected by outsiders.

"P-Potter, why did you-"

"Sorry. No time for explanations. Just let Minister Farnes know that Durmstrang has a bit of a Death Eater problem."

"I-" But Dumbledore held up his hand, dispelling the curse that Black was about to hurl at the boy.

Voldemort also used the opportunity to cast a spell that would bring the orb to him. This resulted in chaos when Dumbledore interfered.

But the Dark Lord still managed to catch it, and with a wave of the man's hand, Black started choking and convulsing heavily. It was only due to Dumbledore's interference that the spell broke again.

The Dark Lord made a dissatisfied sound, temporarily losing sight of Harry who threw himself forward, accidentally coming in contact with Voldemort's arm.

Something curious happened then. The Dark Lord hissed in pain, withdrawing from Harry's touch immediately.

Dumbledore seemed to understand what was going on.

Harry didn't, but that didn't stop him from reaching out again, touching the Dark Lord's arm while making a move to grab the orb. He didn't quite manage to take a hold of it, though. Again.

Black, barely standing on his feet, threw himself at them, grabbing the prophecy successfully before Dumbledore could interfere. With a wave of his stolen wand, he also broke the Anti-Apparition wards and forced Harry into a side-along one with him.

Voldemort grabbed the man as well, and all three of disappeared right out of the ministry, leaving an alarmed headmaster and several Death Eaters behind, who instantly fled, realizing that their Lord was gone.

* * *

Harry felt disorientated and his head hurt, but he noticed that Voldemort instantly distanced himself from him, probably anticipating that the boy would use this strange new ability to hurt him again. Crimson eyes however were fixed on the shattered orb that was positioned right between them.

Even Black wasn't struggling anymore, watching as the pale figure of an old, incredibly thin witch rose from the shards and started speaking in a harsh voice.

_'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies...'_

Harry gaped at the figure, but she disappeared in the mist. His dubious companions were just as silent, although Voldemort's eyes narrowed, no doubt thinking fast and coming to the right conclusions.

And then Black started laughing. It was a sound that settled inside Harry's bones, chilling him beyond belief.

"My job is done," the Metamorphmagus whispered gently, watching Voldemort in satisfaction. His eyes held an understanding that confused the youngest wizard. "And  _he_  will be your downfall, my Lord. As will you."

With that the Dark Lord pointed his wand at the laughing figure.

" _Avada Kedavra_."

The corpse of Regulus Black crashed down, a smile forever frozen in the man's face.

Harry stared at the dead wizard, utterly numb to everything that was happening around him. The traitor's blood still stained Harry's fingertips and clothes, but Voldemort stepped over the corpse as if it was nothing but trash.

There was a moment of silence between them, but from somewhere behind them Harry would've been able to make out several voices if he weren't so distracted.

"Are you going to kill me?" he whispered, and his voice was dead to his ears. He'd fucked up badly.

Finally, he raised his head and bright green met the man's curious gaze.

Voldemort regarded him in interest, taking his time to reply.

"I'm afraid, child, I have to postpone this immense pleasure for now." His voice didn't reveal anything substantial and Harry stared in confusion at the man, noticing that several glimmering lights all around them were now coming closer.

"We are  _surrounded_ ," Voldemort explained and his thin lips formed a sharp, fleeting smirk that hinted at what was to come.

Harry hoisted himself upwards, coming closer to the Dark Lord, yet keeping a respectable distance between them.

" _Lumos_ ," he called, pointing his wand in the general direction of the voices.

They were surrounded, indeed.

Masked wizards and witches clad in pristine, white robes looking like a parody of Death Eaters, were pointing their wands at them, ready to attack.


	16. Back to Back

Being surrounded by unknown people while standing right next to your immortal enemy was not an experience Harry wanted to repeat again.

They were outnumbered, from what he could see. Voldemort would probably be able to handle himself against thirty something wizards. The same couldn't be said about him, Harry thought, dismayed.

He cancelled his lumos and glanced sideways to keep an eye on Voldemort. The man stood tall, not even batting an eyelash. It wasn't surprising to see the Dark Lord acting completely unaffected, though. He would never show open apprehension in front of his enemies. Nor did he need to.

Harry quickly averted his eyes when Voldemort caught his stare. He felt himself getting uncomfortable. The man's gaze bored into him, finding Harry more interesting to look at. The boy fidgeted a bit, trying to focus.

Whatever this place was, it wasn't inside the ministry anymore or any other place Harry could recognize. From the dim lights that these people cast, it looked like some sort of underground bunker with grey stone walls and no windows as an escape route. Ahead of him, the group blocked off the only exit, a narrow corridor that led to Merlin knows where.

He could try blasting his way through it, but stumbling around without a plan wasn't very wise. Behind him, two masked people moved forward, and Harry watched, confused, as they leaned down, grabbing Black's corpse by the ankles and dragging him away from the unlikely duo. Voldemort didn't seem surprised in the least at that, Harry noticed.

"The prophecy shattered, my lady," one of them said, breaking the silence and addressing the smallest figure in the group. Said person also moved forward, stepping closer to him. Harry kept his wand pointed at her.

"It doesn't matter. A recording of the memory will suffice," she replied finally, her voice muffled behind the mask, but Harry recognized it anyway.

"Ms. Yassine."

He never lowered his wand, though, knowing that it didn't mean he was in any way safe just because she was here. Farnes' warnings and Karkaroff's concerned letter were still fresh on his mind.

"Very good, boy. It's been a while, hasn't it?" she said, stopping before him, totally unconcerned by Voldemort's looming presence.

"Can't say I'm happy to see you," he said, watching the group of wizards that were encircling them. He needed a weak spot.

"You wouldn't be, Harry. It seems that some of my ex-colleagues and ministry rats have sunken their claws right into you." She took off her hideous mask, revealing aged, bloated features.

There she stood, and while he was certain that he could take her on in a duel, he didn't know about the rest of them. Or their motives regarding him.

"This is bothersome," Voldemort said, interrupting the reunion. It achieved the desired effect. All wands instantly pointed at the Dark Lord and Harry observed the way almost all people stiffened in fear and apprehension. Their reactions were subtle, but the Dark Lord's intransigent aura challenged everyone present, ultimately making it clear that they stood no chance.

"Riddle." Yassine's voice was so full of loathing and disgust for the man. It raised the hairs on Harry's neck. And then his mind screeched to a halt.

_Riddle?_

_As in Tom Riddle?_

Dumbledore's earlier form of address, which had confused him at that time, the journal, and Yassine's willingness to equip Harry will all the knowledge he needed about the Dark Lord...It all started to come together.

Voldemort eyed her as if she was nothing more than an insignificant, bothersome worm. He seemed to enjoy her rage, though, relishing in her sheer hatred for him.

It was quite funny to watch, if a bit disturbing as well.

Crimson eyes focused back on Harry and the dark wizard licked his lips. Harry's scar twitched in response.

"You haven't changed at all, Carolina. Still hiding behind more skilled and famous wizards for petty revenge," the Dark Lord explained, keeping his eyes on Harry. "What was her name again? Hepzibah Smith?" Voldemort went further, intentionally riling her up, which seemed to crack her cold mask.

"Your presence here is an unwelcome surprise, Riddle," she spat. "But we'll deal with you one way or another. We got what we needed from Regulus and the only thing left here is the boy and my work."

"The  _boy_  is standing right here, and if you want your precious wand back, I'm afraid that's not possible," Harry interrupted. "Given the circumstances," he added darkly.

His words heightened the tension between them.

Everything would escalate soon.

It was an idiotic masked man who made the first move, though, disregarding Yassine's orders in order to throw a killing curse at Voldemort.

"Don't harm the boy," she screamed, her shrill voice rising above the commotion when several others started to follow their comrade's example.

Voldemort expertly moved aside, forcing Harry to back away as well. Unfortunately, the wizards behind him decided it was the perfect opportunity to get him away from the Dark Lord. Blocking more harmless curses against him, Harry raised a  _protego_ , well aware that Yassine was drawing closer while her group of people started to throw curse after curse at Riddle.

Except, it seemed the Dark Lord had other plans. Harry stumbled back, eyes widening in horror as Voldemort started to conjure an insanely powerful  _fiendfyre_ , its rising heat taking the form of a serpent that immediately went on to attack the masked men.

People shrieked in terror, scrambling away from the fire and Harry caught Yassine's anxious expression as well.

Good.

They were distracted, which meant this was his one and only opening.

" _Bombarda,_ " he chanted, aiming at the high ceiling above the masked men blocking off the entrance. It worked. Pieces of it fell down, crushing several people beneath it as dust gathered, temporarily obscuring Harry's sight. But he needed to push past three others who were still attempting to dodge Voldemort's terrible curse. He glanced at the impeccable control the Dark Lord had over the serpent; curious to notice that it wasn't attacking Harry in the slightest.

The heat gnawed at him, restricting his breath and chasing away the humid air inside the bunker.

"Get Potter," someone screamed and Harry ran, using his elbow to deliver a precise hit. The man yelped, falling forward, nearly taking Harry down with him. He sidestepped neatly and got a good look at his face that was revealed when the wizard's masked slipped off. He looked familiar, but Harry didn't have the time to analyze the situation. The fire behind him ravaged everything that came in its path. And people were still determined to get to him.

He ran as fast as his legs could carry him, and the throbbing sensation in his arm reminded Harry that he needed to take care of his wounds as soon as possible.

Finally reaching the corridor, he pivoted on his heel, turning right and going blindly into the dark. Another lumos took care of the problem, but he didn't have the faintest idea how to get out of this place. Or what to look out for.

Shouts behind him echoed off the bare walls and the corridor seemed endless, a dangerous void you couldn't escape from. He never stopped, though, turning left on instinct. Thoughts about Harry-hunting during his childhood suddenly sprung into mind, making him do things on autopilot.

There was another door not far away, small and without a handle, which he opened with a spell. Stumbling inside, he was about to cast a colloportus, when someone else suddenly crashed into it, forcefully pushing Harry further into the room and locking the door behind him.

He didn't even hear the footsteps, but the stinging sensation and smoke told him exactly who it was. How had the man managed to sneak up on him like that?

Really, Harry had the worst luck.

Voldemort straightened himself, making sure that he wasn't touching him again. The pain must've come from the contact between them, but the wizard looked unharmed and still as powerful as always.

Footsteps outside the room indicated that some of those people must've managed to escape the Dark Lord's curse. After a while, the sounds grew distant until there was nothing left but minatory silence.

With a slight move of the man's right hand, Voldemort cast another spell. Harry could only guess that he must've raised some sort of silencing ward around the two of them. It didn't make Harry feel any safer.

"So what now?" he asked, bravely meeting the man's eyes. The portkey felt heavy inside his pocket.

Voldemort just stood there, observing him quietly, before his eyes travelled downwards.

"No portkeys work, unless you can disable the wards," the Dark Lord said, finally leaning against the wall behind him, his stance lazy.

"Or you could do it for me?" Harry suggested, testing the man's limits.

"To let you escape now that I finally have you? I don't think so, child." Voldemort smirked.

Insidious magic coated the room and it tried to challenge Harry's own magic, coaxing it out. He refused to play that type of game with the man, even though the amount of magic almost made him shiver. Trying to make him obey.

"It was worth a try." Harry shrugged, starting to pace back and forth, well aware that every little move was scrutinized by the Dark Lord.

Voldemort remained silent.

"If you don't want to kill me, what then?" Harry scoffed. "Torture? Information? I don't have anything to offer."

The wizard continued watching him, looking pleased at the way certain things were coming together.

"On the contrary. I thought it'd be prudent to have a proper conversation with the Boy-Who-Lived."

"Proper conversation?" Harry said, incredulous. "Interrogation, you mean."

"If you want to see it like that." The Dark Lord waved him off, eyes flickering upward to a spot behind Harry. Only now did Harry notice the frigid air inside the room. It vaguely smelled of... chemicals.

"Well, go on. What do you want to know?" he asked, pocketing his wand. He knew that defending himself at this point against Voldemort was more or less futile.

Another group of people swept past the corridor, their footsteps loud and heavy, but Voldemort must've done something else in order for them to just move on. It was hard to tell.

"Many things, Mr. Potter." The Dark Lord regarded him speculatively. "I've been watching you for a while now and it looks like you don't even realize the trouble you're truly in, the dangers you've faced today and barely got away with." Dark amusement danced behind crimson eyes and Harry stepped back, trying to calm his racing heart. The Dark Lord's statement was ambiguous, but he couldn't have referred to himself in this case.

"You look," Voldemort paused, crossing his arms slowly, "confused." Harry gritted his teeth, not appreciating that Voldemort was so keen on making him look like an oblivious child. Even if he felt like one.

"Elaborate," he demanded instead, making himself sound as unimpressed as possible with the wizard's schemes.

Voldemort laughed softly, apparently enjoying his act way too much. "Very well, Harry. Let's just say that you've escaped a fate worse than death today and it was thanks to my presence here that your mind is still intact."

"My mind?" Harry frowned in confusion. "And you mean the association?"

Riddle's expression grew serious as he stepped away from his position, walking around Harry.

"The association, the guild, whatever you want to call it," the man said dismissively. "They don't have a name, for a name means trying to establish an existence in this world," Voldemort quoted, mocking them. "Something these people seem to detest." A cruel smile lifted the corners of Voldemort's mouth.

"They believe that obscurity and invisibility is the only way to overpower me."

"Sounds extremely cliché," Harry said, not finding any humor in it. The Dark Lord however looked pleased with his observation.

"And it's useless, as you should know by now." Voldemort was calm, confident in his own superiority over everyone. Harry was having a hard time disagreeing with him.

"So what did they want with me?" Harry began, drawing his wand again. "This?"

The Dark Lord's eyes instantly zeroed in on Harry's wand, made of Rowan, but he didn't seem all that impressed by it.

"Both, of course. The reason the wandmakers entrusted you with their work is because they needed to prove that you were the one able to handle that kind of magic." Bright crimson eyes looked at him, musing. "And you did. My  _equal_ , indeed." Voldemort smiled, drawing closer. His statement tapered off, leaving the prophecy and its consequences hanging between them.

It was disquieting.

Harry pondered whether he should tell him more, but in the end he decided that he needed more answers, even if it was Lord Voldemort providing them. Of course, he couldn't trust and believe a single word that came out of the man's mouth, but that didn't mean he wouldn't listen.

As for the association. He knew that the failed experiments were never meant to serve as the sole weapon against people such as Voldemort. A powerful wizard was a vital component to make it work, but Harry never managed to figure out the link between unlocking that power, which imitated one of the Deathly Hallows and using people such as him to achieve it.

Wait a minute? Using people...

The disappearances in the past...

Harry's eyes widened and Voldemort's smirk grew colder.

"Look around you, Harry. Look around you and find the answers you seek," Riddle whispered, once again turning his gaze away from him to inspect their surroundings.

And Harry did. He increased the light emanating from his wand, taking his time to observe the content inside the room even if it meant turning his back on the enemy.

He saw it immediately.

A greenish hue surrounded the objects and the smell of chemical liquids started to make sense.

He took several steps closer and nothing short of pure terror invaded his senses as he saw the dozens of glass caskets all lined up neatly against the walls. There were tubes as well, placed in the back.

Harry pointed his wand at the nearest casket, almost throwing up at the contents inside.

Bodies, in various states were imprisoned, all pale and looking for all intents and purposes dead. Limbs were somewhat stitched back together, but it looked like these people have suffered terribly.

The association apparently captured wizards and witches of famous and important standing to... _experiment on them_.

Harry held his arm, absently waving his wand to heal his wound.

"Inferi?" he murmured, shocked.

"Not quite," a dark voice stated behind him. Voldemort used the opportunity to approach Harry, still keeping his distance from him, though.

"The  _failed experiments_  are much more than mere imitations of something I desire. They stand for all the wizards and witches in this society that were being used against me at one time or another. All the people that were used against the likes of Grindelwald, and others dating back to esteemed men such as Herpo the Foul from Ancient Greece," Voldemort lectured, his tone dry.

Harry didn't remember having read much about the wizard Voldemort was referring to, but Hepzibah's words of warning came to mind. The way in which she had described Belvina Burke's fate, for example.

Another thought came to mind.

The wizards have dragged Regulus Black's carcass away earlier, saying that it was still useful for something. Did that mean, they would disembowel him as well? Black who must've also come in contact with the real Julian Moline in the past...

...Who had died as well.

"And I was supposed to-"

"End up like them?" Voldemort mocked. "Maybe. They would've most likely used the wands they created to experiment on you, since you proved yourself worthy in their eyes."

Harry turned away from the sickening sight of corpses all around him, floating inside liquid that somehow preserved their body parts, causing them to fall into an eternal sleep unless they were needed again.

He looked up and met the Dark Lord's speculative gaze head on. "You seem to have a theory," he started, hesitating a bit.

"And you don't?" The Dark Lord challenged. He was relaxed in ways only he could be, surrounded by corpses and death.

Harry did have one, since he managed to experiment on his own wand. Karkaroff's letter made more sense as well. Harry suspected that Carolina and her henchmen would've probably reinvented their creations, turning him into a being of more power, but also essentially a walking, overpowered corpse that was at their command. There were several other ways in which wands could be abused to power up a suitable wizarding core. Gregorovitch had boasted about his ability to manipulate his work to his own advantage, for example.

The wizarding world often dreamed about the times Merlin had done outstanding magic without the use of such bothersome items as wands. And while wandless magic was an option, it wasn't quite the same as a wizard who was literally the embodiment of magic.

A wizard of Merlin's standing would've managed to challenge Dark Lords such as Grindelwald and Voldemort. Even Dumbledore.

Harry had no way of knowing or confirming these theories, but he wasn't about to delve deeper into that issue. He wouldn't be abused as another lab rat to suit their needs.

"Destroy it," Harry said, holding Voldemort's gaze fiercely. An arched eyebrow was the only response he got in return, but the man seemed to know what Harry wanted him to do.

"Such a heartless, murderous child you are." The Dark Lord inched closer to him without touching the boy. His crimson eyes were quite captivating, Harry thought for a moment, feeling ashamed. The magic around them swirled comfortingly, like a cloak hiding them from the outside world.

"Spare me your platitudes, Riddle," Harry said, feeling guilty enough. Yet he couldn't deny the small voice inside his head, content with the idea to kill all these people who caused so much suffering, to end the torment of all the wizards trapped forever in these sick machinations.

Voldemort's eyes darkened, a warning not to push the man's limits with blatant disrespect. Not that Harry would ever care.

But surprisingly, the Dark Lord went ahead, concentrating on first disabling the wards around the entire compound. He drew his wand, murmuring a chain of latin words continuously, which made Harry stare at him.

A runic symbol, which he couldn't translate, appeared above their heads, lightening up the room with the amount of dark magic it contained.

Voldemort then proceeded to grab Harry's arm, which was partially healed, pressing his hands against the blood that was still all over him.

And then they disappeared, Apparating outside and leaving nothing but dark smoke behind.

They reappeared outside the tall building, which was located in a desolate area, only to see that greenish fire started to ravage the walls, destroying everything from the inside out. Screams permeated the area.

Then, Harry watched as the Dark Lord proceeded to ignore him, murmuring something under his breath instead.

The tall grass around them made it almost impossible to be seen, but Harry welcomed the fresh air, which he inhaled to get rid of the burning feeling inside his lungs. That had been a close call in there and he watched dispassionately as the screaming intensified. Voldemort must've also managed to entrap all of them after breaking their wards, which prevented their means of escape. It hinted at the Dark Lord's intimate knowledge of the group and the magic they used, which was sort of logical, Harry thought. After all, he was the one targeted by them.

Suddenly, someone else Apparated, appearing before Voldemort and lowering himself, bowing lowly. Harry was startled to see white robes hanging off the man's rumpled, thin form.

It was the same one he'd seen earlier when he knocked his mask off in a haste to get away.

"My Lord. Yassine, Brighton and Keller are dead. John Dawlish escaped with Black's corpse," the man murmured in a deep voice, giving his report.

Voldemort dismissed the man's words entirely, but Harry almost gaped at him. Carolina was dead as well?

"Don't be surprised by it, boy," the Dark Lord said, turning to him again. "It isn't the end and she was certainly not the only one in power."

"Gregorovitch," Harry threw in, frowning a bit.

"And many others. They have hundreds of hideouts all around Europe," the Dark Lord confirmed, disinterested. "It's a matter of destroying them one by one."

Then he turned back to the other wizard. Harry guessed he must've been the inside spy and Death Eater. Yet, Voldemort's slight surprise at Regulus Black's existence also meant that spying on this group and sending information back to Voldemort was no easy feat to accomplish.

"You're dismissed, Dolohov."

With that, the man Disapparated, leaving Harry in shock.

Dolohov? As in Antonin Dolohov?

Filipp's father... Harry was quite sure that not many members of their family were left alive and the man's features had looked familiar.

"I think I had enough surprises for one night," Harry stated, backing away from Voldemort.

Filipp must've known more than he let on and his earlier warnings and pitying behavior around the Potter heir started to make more sense in light of this particular revelation. He must've lied about his father's imprisonment as well, acting all angry and faking it whenever that topic had been brought up. Harry vowed to squeeze every grain of truth out of that little leech.

If he survived...

Voldemort was not quite ready to let him escape obviously, even if his behavior around him had been somewhat mellow. For a Dark Lord, that is.

"Now that this has been dealt with, we shall proceed with another matter," Riddle said calmly, approaching him quickly and grabbing Harry to force him into another Side-along Apparition. He was getting sick of those.

* * *

The main base was cozy, in that sort of Slytherin-ish way that Harry had only ever read about. They were currently in Voldemort's office, from the looks of it. All polished desks, bookcases lined up and filled with ancient tomes on the most gruesome dark magic known to wizarding kind. The smell of parchment and candles lulled people into false safety.

Dawn was approaching fast and Harry knew that utter chaos would reign inside the ministry. His life in secrecy was officially over. And Voldemort had declared his existence to the world as well.

The bespectacled boy almost pitied all the journalists that would have to deal with today's news and their fallout.

Unfortunately, his lack of attention cost him. Without warning, he was grabbed from behind and tossed into the seat as manacles instantly rose to trap him in place. He struggled fiercely, but a glance sideways revealed that the perpetrator wasn't Voldemort, but  _Lucius fucking Malfoy_  holding a dagger.

"Ten drops will suffice," Voldemort stated coldly, taking a seat behind his desk.

He shouldn't have expected anything else as Malfoy approached him and swiftly bent down to grasp his arm, pushing his dirtied sleeve above his elbow to reveal smooth skin.

The dagger was a ritual object, but Harry didn't have the time to analyze the situation. Metal pierced skin and Harry hissed in pain, watching as blood welled up quickly.

Lucius collected the necessary amount, waiting patiently.

"You fuck-" he spat, clenching his teeth when hands pressed down on the wound, cutting off his insults.

"Tut, tut, Potter. Be a good boy," the Death Eater mocked and Harry had no doubt that the blond wizard enjoyed this moment, using it as repayment for what Harry had done to him the last time they've met.

"Lucius, the blood," Voldemort commanded, impatient, leaning forward to watch them closely.

"Of course, my Lord." The Death Eater put the vial on the table, not even bothering to heal Harry's deep cut.

With that, the Malfoy patriarch was dismissed. As he left the office, he shot Harry an indecipherable look.

The door closed behind them, once again leaving the Boy-Who-Lived and the Dark Lord alone.

"What are you doing?" Harry breathed, eyes widening as he observed how Riddle picked up the vial, his magic rising in concentration to do something nefarious.

 _"Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you will strengthen your foe,"_ Voldemort chanted quietly. The tip of his wand conjured a beautiful chalice, and the man proceeded to pour Harry's blood into it. He then withdrew another vial from behind his desk, breaking the protective magic around the glass in order to mix the content with the red liquid.

"To your health,  _Harry_." Voldemort hissed with passion, finally raising the cup to his lips and...

...drinking Harry's blood.

The boy watched in disgusted fascination as the wizard's pale skin began to glow faintly, no doubt a blood ritual taking effect right in front of his eyes. But what for?

It took less than a minute for the ritual to set in, but for Harry it felt eerily like an hour of imminent torture, since whatever happened also affected him to some degree, even if he couldn't exactly pinpoint the feeling.

The light disappeared, leaving the Dark Lord physically unchanged, yet the smile he showed him was sharp and sinister.

With a wave of the man's wand, vials and daggers disappeared and Voldemort stood, tall and impeccably dressed, approaching Harry's bloodied, beaten form slowly. A predator circling its prey.

Harry sneered at him in return.

"Your mudblood mother sacrificed yourself for you, invoking ancient magic and making it impossible for me to touch you as I see fit," the darkly seductive voice broke the silence.

"And my blood obviously undid her effort," Harry spat, watching the tall man angrily as he proceeded to use his body language in order to intimidate him. Not that this petty alpha display would ever work on him.

Harry needed to get out of his constraints. And soon. His wand was unfortunately lying on the ground. Out of reach.

Voldemort raised his arm.

"Now let's see how Lord Voldemort's powers truly affect the Boy-Who-Lived. I'm certain this will be quite the experience for you."

Pale fingers reached out, touching the place where his scar was located.

And then there was nothing but agony.

Sheer, unfathomable pain ravaged his body and his senses in ways he'd never felt before. He cried out, unable to stifle his reaction and tears were spilling out, humiliation complete.

Only his vague knowledge of Occlumency prevented certain insanity, but something else was rising inside his chest in response to it.

Something that felt warm, comforting against the pain Voldemort was inflicting on him. If Harry managed to open his eyes, he would've been able to see the Dark Lord's indifference to his torture, his cold, impenetrable mask. There was no enjoyment to be seen in crimson eyes as they continued to trace the path of Harry's infamous mark with a long finger.

_Retreat._

A faint voice called to him.

But he followed its call, shutting down his mind to escape reality as foreign and yet incredibly familiar magic and darkness encircled his being.

Fingers left, and abruptly the connection was cut off, leaving Harry gasping for breath, snapping his eyes open.

What was that?

He panted and blinked his own tears away, hating this blatant weakness. The restraints on his wrists had cut deeply into the skin, leaving it raw and burning.

"You-bastard!" he breathed and clenched his fists despite the pain.

Voldemort looked at him oddly then. As if confronted with an intricate puzzle to solve.

Harry on the other hand had no patience left to interpret the man's contradicting actions tonight. The only thing that mattered was surviving and leaving this hellhole once and for all. Dark Lords be damned.

He got his chance when Voldemort lifted his restraints and Harry forced himself to get up, quickly stumbling aside and grabbing his wand. Surprisingly, the Dark Lord simply let him, frowning at the boy.

"You know, if you told me back then that I'd end up as another lab rat for you instead of those people, I might've even taken my chances with them," he said, voice rough from all the screaming.

The Dark Lord laughed suddenly, shaking his head a bit. Black hair fell in soft waves against pale skin and for a moment Harry simply stood, frozen.

"I find myself at odds, Potter," the Dark Lord replied, uncharacteristically gentle. "I would kill you, if you didn't manage to surprise me constantly, leaving me with no choice but to tread carefully around you, lest I find myself in another pitiful situation."

The honest admission almost threw Harry off his course, but he simply arched an eyebrow.

"Right," he huffed. "Call me, if you're ready for our prophetic death match," Harry said dryly.

"I will, child. I will." And there was unrestrained appreciation in the man's eyes.

Inside his pocket, his fingers suddenly came in contact with something that could probably get him out of this mess. His portkey was still there, but he didn't know if Voldemort bothered to raise wards against it. The loathsome man probably did, Harry thought darkly. Otherwise, he would've searched Harry's pockets.

Thankfully, he was saved from further speculation when another voice called from outside the office.

"My Lord. We've detected Aurors approaching the wards. From Norway," a Death Eater said, not daring to come inside yet.

Voldemort pushed past the boy, opening the door. With another look back, he smirked at Harry knowingly.

"It seems, your protectors have finally arrived to get you away from me."

Harry just smiled back, following him quietly.

"Lucky me," he drawled, hiding the pain still affecting his body. Maybe he'd get another chance to return back home.

He had a lot to think about, after all.


	17. Until Next Time

Yaxley closed his eyes and swallowed the lump that seemed to be stuck in his throat. He kept his wand pointed at Potter's neck, hoping the boy wouldn't cause too much trouble.

Admittedly, Potter was behaving well for someone who was under the mercy of his enemies. There were no signs of tension or wariness in his body language. The boy obeyed, walking ahead of him, his steps confident and steady. He followed Yaxley's directions without problems.

It was nerve-wracking, though. Knowing that this was  _Potter_ , anything could happen. And if it did, his Lord wouldn't be pleased.

Still, it shouldn't be too hard to keep an eye on the brat.

The manor they were currently residing in belonged to an insignificant Death Eater named Crowley, an unpleasant individual with a gambling problem. The rooms were run down -for their standards- and the corridors desolate. Rats and mould infested this place and no heating charms or proper lights existed. It was a hideout that would be easy to give up in case Norway's Aurors attacked them.

An attack was very likely.

His Lord had dismissed him as soon as he's given his report. Apparently, he would deal with the Aurors by himself, Yaxley concluded.

His comrades had been wounded in the fight at the ministry and Potter himself was responsible for at least one casualty, if not more. That alone changed several outcomes in this ongoing war. It also changed first impressions.

He tried to wipe the sweat off his hands without Potter noticing anything.

They were heading for the dungeons.

Yaxley had never witnessed the fight in London, staying back on his Lord's orders in order to continue spying on Fudge. Though, hearing the fascinating tale of the battle completely destroyed Potter's image in the eyes of their enemies.

Potter was a kid, yes. But also a criminal now.

Yaxley led him downstairs, still dwelling on the mystery that was the boy in front of him.

"Is this a hostage situation?" Potter suddenly asked, head turned sideways as he addressed the Death Eater and politician.

Yaxley tightened his grip on his wand. His Lord had taken Potter's only weapon away from him, but that didn't mean things couldn't go wrong.

"Keep your mouth shut," he sneered and grabbed the boy's shoulder to push him forward.

Potter huffed in annoyance. "You guys are no fun."

Yaxley felt his nerves acting up. The boy was a pest. Everything about him was aggravating. Moreover, Potter's unpredictability and the involvement with his Lord's demise made him _dangerous_.

"Don't ask stupid questions," he said instead. "You should know by now that there's nothing my Lord desires in exchange for your freedom. Your time's up, boy."

The older wizard eyed the way Potter straightened his shoulders, as if defying his outcome by sheer stubbornness could change his fate. It was ridiculous.

"Funny," Potter said calmly. "If my time's up as you say...Then why am I still alive?" The brat turned, angling his body towards the Death Eater. At Yaxley's treacherous silence, he let out a small laugh.

"You're wondering why your master is keeping me alive instead of killing me."

Yes, he was wondering why. But that didn't mean he would admit it. A wordless stinging hex made the boy yelp in surprise, before green eyes darkened in anger and annoyance. Potter rubbed his arm and shifted on his feet, inspecting their new surroundings more closely. Yaxley smiled grimly and pointed at the far end of the corridor.

"In there, now!" he commanded, forcing his prisoner to move again. He watched as Potter dragged his feet, but thankfully the boy reached the cell, which Yaxley opened with a flick of his wand.

Potter scrunched up his nose in disgust and was about to step inside when another person suddenly appeared behind Yaxley, tapping his shoulder impatiently.

He turned around in confusion only to come face to face with a masked Death Eater.

"Our Lord ordered me to watch over the brat."

Yaxley frowned in thought, eyeing his comrade in bewilderment. None of them had noticed the newcomer.

"Really?" he asked, voice tinted with suspicion. The Dark Lord had ordered Yaxley to stay behind while he dealt with the commotion upstairs. He hadn't said anything about others.

"Really."

And without warning the Death Eater struck, hitting the side of Yaxley's head with almost deadly force. It was a precise hit. The last thing he saw before unconsciousness gripped him was a pair of black heels.

Harry watched as the unknown Death Eater stepped over Yaxley's form to reach him. His eyes trailed over immaculate black robes, before taking in the hideous sight of a mask. A mask that was apparently stolen.

Gloved hands reached out and briefly took off the offending object. Harry's eyes widened in surprise.

Marit Farnes smiled at him, holding up a finger against her lips, before adjusting her mask again. Then she simply grabbed his elbow, steering him away from the dungeons.

Harry had never felt happier to see her.

He strained his ears to make out sounds of a fight, but it was disturbing how silent their surroundings were. No spells were fired, no Death Eaters were scrambling to aid their master... nothing. No one was present to check up on them, which was incredibly foolish, Harry thought. And no Voldemort in sight either.

Harry knew that he was still here, though. The man's magic was an omnipotent force that called attention to him, leaving a taint behind in every corner.

It felt insidious.

He didn't dare to ask Farnes about the lack of Death Eaters present, but she must've felt suspicious as well. Her grip on his arm made him wince.

She led him towards an abandoned dining room and Harry gaped when he noticed the lit fireplace, which could be used as an escape route.

How convenient.

They stepped inside and green fire surrounded his body, before whisking him away to the safety of Norway's ministry.

* * *

In the backyard of Crowley's manor Voldemort surveyed the carnage. A handful of Aurors lay dead at his feet, having been sacrificed at the whims of an ambitious politician.

His heartbeat throbbed in time with his rampant magic and he reveled in the feeling.

Harry Potter _was gone._ The bait has been set free and now it was time to wait for the inevitable outcome.

But first, he needed to deal with the failure that was his army. Voldemort inhaled the humid air and smiled, crimson eyes closing briefly.

They would see each other soon and this time  _no one_  would interrupt them.

* * *

She was displeased.

Harry sighed. His bones ached, making him aware that he was not exactly in the best condition for this talk.

"Well?" Farnes began, and her tone was impatient. She steepled her fingers and leaned forward in her seat to wait for an explanation.

"What do you want to know?" Harry rubbed his forehead, avoiding her gaze.

"Let's start with something simple, Potter," she said. "What happened after you left London?"

Harry snorted. This was anything but simple and he didn't feel like recounting the events in vivid detail. So he decided to change the topic.

"How did you find me?"

Amusement flickered in her eyes and Farnes shook her head slightly. "Karkaroff", she said.

Harry stared at her, thinking he might have misheard. What did the old fool have to do with her rescue mission?

"How do you think we managed to find you?" she asked. "Voldemort's hideouts aren't exactly public information, you know."

He frowned, wondering why the two were on speaking terms again. He could've imagined that Karkaroff had collected sensitive information, but Farnes wasn't the man's ally.

Sensing his thoughts, the Minister picked up a quill and briefly wrote down a memo, sending it off with a flick of her wand.

"Karkaroff was kind enough to inform us of your whereabouts and we chose to get you out of there sooner rather than later," Farnes said and her eyes were dispassionate.

Harry had no clue how the man could know about his location, but apparently the old fool had some dubious sources.

"So the Aurors...?"

Dry lips thinned, but otherwise she remained calm. "Dead. They were a necessary sacrifice."

Harry gazed at her and thought that nothing could be more difficult than sending your own people to a suicide mission. But she acted like it didn't matter at all.

It bothered him.

"Don't be a hypocrite, Harry." Her smile was sharp, a parody of affection. "From what I heard, you were quite willing to massacre an entire army just to save yourself."

Green eyes narrowed at that.

"I was defending myself. Anyone would do that in my situation." And he believed his own words, knowing that murder was the only option left unless you wanted to just roll over and die. Compassion for his enemies and guilt weren't feelings he could afford to hold onto. Not in times of war.

"Cute. Dumbledore and Fudge seem to disagree." Farnes pointed at the stack of papers on her desk. He hadn't paid much attention to them earlier, but now he could clearly see that the headlines contained sensitive information.

She grabbed the Daily Prophet, smirking at him when Harry's expression grew dark.

 _"_ THE-BOY-WHO-LIVED-IS-BACK! Attack on the Ministry of Magic, _"_ she recited _._

Another paper, another dramatic headline, varying from  _YOU-KNOW-WHO-RETURNS_  to Witch Weekly's  _HARRY POTTER - IS HE A BAD BOY?_

Harry groaned, throwing his hands up. "Just stop. I get it."

Farnes chuckled, vanishing the papers. "I'm afraid your life is about to change dramatically. Not only did you break into the ministry, you also faced off against a man people believed was dead." Her expression grew serious again. "They also know you're currently studying at Durmstrang. You can imagine what they think. What Fudge or even Dumbledore's allies think."

Harry froze.

"How?" he asked, gripping his armrests tightly. Farnes was studying him again, equal parts worry and cold calculation.

"Some Death Eaters didn't manage to get away, but they were quite happy to tell the Aurors how dark you are. They wanted to discredit you as much as possible," she said, pushing a lock of blond hair away from her face.

Damn them all to hell. Harry balled his fists.

"Great. And now they think I'm what?"

Farnes' expression was grim. "The public's opinion is the least of your problems. You've caused an international uproar, Harry."

"Great." Harry scratched his forehead, wondering how to get out of this mess.

"Not really." And her voice grew unyielding as her eyes fixed on him in warning.

"What on earth  _possessed you_  to use explosives in the ministry without consulting me first?"

Confusion reared its head.

"What?"

Farnes looked furious with him and without warning she suddenly slid an envelope across the table, motioning for him to read a letter.

Harry did and his eyes widened in alarm. The paper felt heavy in his hands.

"A hearing?"

"Yes, a hearing. And I hope for your sake that your alibi is solid," Farnes said darkly.

The Bulgarian Ministry of Magic was quite interested in Harry's adventure, considering the fact that their own minister's been assassinated by using explosives in the man's office.

Worse even, the captured Death Eaters in London were only too happy to convince the authorities that Harry Potter was not a very good boy, which spelled even more trouble for him. Harry sighed.

He'd need to get Krum involved in this hearing to clear the issue up, but the consequences of his experiments would follow him for a while. Even as a minor, several people would decide to punish him like an adult if it suited them.

The Daily Prophet had also been very interested in Harry's attempt to 'steal something' from the ministry.

"I thought if the Death Eater problem at Durmstrang would get out to the public, they'd focus more on that. I just didn't expect Voldemort's entire army to rain down on me," he said finally, pocketing the letter. He had expected some resistance, but not on this scale, Harry thought, feeling anxious. Things were spiraling out of control.

"It was quite convenient for the Dark Lord to expose himself at the same time you did." Farnes looked as tired as he felt. "Do you still have the portkey?"

At that, Harry searched his pockets, looking for the tiny object. He was relieved to notice Voldemort hadn't taken it from him...which was also surprising, he thought in alarm.

"It would've put me in a difficult position if the Dark Lord decided to hold my involvement in your search for the prophecy over my head," she explained, reaching out for it. True, her magical signature would've probably caused even more trouble for her ministry.

"I had help with the explosives," Harry admitted, remembering Eileen's enthusiastic research, although he could admit now that defending himself like that hadn't been the best idea in light of what was going on.

"It doesn't matter anymore," she said. "Just make sure you give them the full story and that your priority was self-defense."

There was a moment of silence between them and Harry almost lost himself to his own thoughts. He couldn't quite understand why he was still alive, and his mind tried to supply him with all the information about Voldemort and the association, trying to connect the dots. It dampened his mood, knowing that he wouldn't be safe no matter where he went now. On top of that, there was just no way he could overcome the Dark Lord now. Even the memory of that overwhelming force made him shiver and swallow hard. And the memory of his painful touch and the ritual just added to the mystery.

Come to think of it, why did Voldemort just...let him go?

"Don't you think it was too easy to get away from the Dark Lord?" he asked, interrupting the Minister's thoughts. "I mean, he just decided to let one Death Eater watch over me," he trailed off.

"Child's play," Marit replied blandly. "He wanted you out of there, using you in one way or another, which brings us to the topic at hand."

"If you want to know what happened after I left, you should probably get a pensive," Harry said, not wanting to remember the bodies and the heat. Or Black's corpse.

In the end, he gave her the memories, including the entire content of the prophecy and the Dark Lord's blood ritual. He even admitted that Voldemort had taken his wand and that he was essentially out of his depth now. He told Farnes about Hepzibah's journal as well, knowing that holding his cards close to him would not help in this situation.

He could see the moment realization quickly dawned on her, followed by anxiety.

"Tom Riddle," she whispered and her eyes grew calculative. "That changes certain things, but we can use it to our advantage."

Harry could understand where this was going, but he didn't think damaging Voldemort's reputation amongst their community would be that helpful.

"The fact that he's no pure-blood is enough for some of those supremacists to start questioning their loyalty," she explained an there was a dangerous edge to her voice.

Harry wasn't convinced. Fanatics would need more evidence of the man's deteriorating state to start doubting themselves. And Voldemort was far from weak.

"You need to have more information than that."

Farnes smiled at him. "Which brings us to the journal you have in your possession. It also helps that you can provide the ministry and public relations department with memories of your encounter with him. And I have my own sources."

Harry scoffed. "Hopefully your sources are more useful than Dumbledore's," he replied, shaking his head. "Don't you think he would've already damaged Voldemort's reputation by now? He seemed to know about him long before I did."

"And you forget Dumbledore's own reputation interferes with what people want to believe, Harry." Her smile grew even wider. "The public will be more interested in what  _you_  have to say. Not a light wizard and the one who defeated Grindelwald."

Harry stood, leaving his seat to put some distance between them. "Absolutely not!"

"Oh yes. Your grand speech." Her eyebrows drew up and lips twitched in amusement. She was laughing at him.

"You will have to give them something, which is why I already arranged everything for an interview."

"You planned all of this?" Harry knew he was acting unreasonably, but the thought of all those people just waiting to devour him was making him queasy.

"I did. And it helps that you involved Fudge, since he agreed to cooperate with me in order to save face," she added, smirking at him. Harry paced back and forth in the office, not able to keep still.

"He will take care of the Death Eaters at Durmstrang, you mean," he said simply. In fact, Harry had counted on the man to start acting to save whatever power base he had, once the whole Death Eater problem at a foreign school became a public issue. Not because Farnes couldn't deal with it. No. Most of the Death Eaters were British, which automatically heaped responsibility onto Fudge's shoulders.

With the impostor gone, Harry could think of several others like Wilkes that would be removed forcefully.

Making Harry's life that much easier with Voldemort's minions out of the way.

"I don't think he will hold much longer onto power, but with Fudge in the picture and two governments allied it will be easier for me to remove the Dark Lord's spies at your school," Farnes said.

"And who will be the new headmaster?" Harry asked, wondering if maybe Karkaroff would be coming back.

"I haven't decided yet," she replied simply. "And it isn't that important for now, Harry." Her gaze sharpened again. "Tell me, how would you describe the Dark Lord?"

Harry almost laughed out loud, completely thrown off guard. Halting his movements, he returned her look, deciding to give her a simple but truthful response.

"Diffferent. The books got it all wrong."

And in his mind's eye, he remembered the intelligence and conviction in the man's crimson eyes. The unbelievable strength in his stance. The passion and desire for blood wrapped up in determination to overcome every single obstacle to attain victory.

Riddle wasn't a pathetic war mongrel without purpose or direction. He was a rational being at the height of his power, Harry thought.

And that made him even more  _dangerous_.

* * *

Two days after his conversation with the Minister, Harry had taken all the time to recuperate and get his bearings together. It wasn't easy, though. They had talked endlessly about Voldemort, the association and their experiments, Black's existence and the ritual that Voldemort had invoked to touch Harry. The speculations grew endless, theories about Lily Potter's magic thrown back and forth between them. It helped that Farnes had known Lily to some degree and confirmed that his mother had been capable enough to stop Voldemort from touching him. Unfortunately, her sacrifice was meaningless in the end.

He had trouble sleeping after that night in the bunker. The screams and fire invaded his dreams and he woke up bathed in sweat and fear. He was still wandless and couldn't defend himself at all. His mind always grew numb as soon as thoughts on Voldemort and Black's corpse resurfaced.

Now he was sitting in her office again, preparing mentally for the incoming disaster. Harry tapped his foot impatiently, reading over the speech that Farnes had so generously prepared for him. In a few minutes, he'd have to face hundreds of journalists and ministry employees to officially declare himself alive and well. Which meant no more secrecy and hiding in the shadows.

It had already started.

His house-elves have told him that a monstrous pile of letters was waiting back home. And newspapers all over Europe were printing one scandalous story after another.

People in several countries were interested in the newest developments and even more grew wary and fearful of the fact that Voldemort was back and had thrown this world right back into another war. People would start to link all these recent terrorist attacks to the Dark Lord's machinations. The wizarding world was finally taking its rose-tinted glasses off.

Unfortunately, there wasn't a single word on the man's movements and Harry had an incredibly hard time trying to figure out the man's motives.

Besides, Karkaroff was still in hiding and so was Gregorovitch. Even people like Malfoy hadn't been seen in public and from what Harry knew their manor had disappeared under a Fidelius charm the day after the attack, leaving Fudge's authorities empty-handed.

The door was suddenly thrown open and Farnes marched right in, followed by two Aurors who would escort them to the conference room.

"Over five hundred people have gathered."

Harry looked up, pushing his worries aside to focus on the newest development.

"That's five hundred too much," he replied dryly, rolling the parchment up. He didn't have stage fright, but the idea that he'd have to give these bloodthirsty sharks something more personal didn't sit well with Harry.

Farnes looked him over, before nodding in satisfaction.

It was time.

"You'll do fine if you stick to what we discussed. I don't want any surprises," she said, picking up her own bag. Together they left the office and Harry noticed that the Aurors following them haven't seen him before. Both of them were gawking at him. Harry rolled his eyes, ignoring them for the time being.

As for the speech...

Harry had no plans to stick to it, but Farnes didn't need to know that.

The corridors were deserted and Harry tried to block out her words of advice. He was still wondering what facts about himself he needed to reveal just to get the wizarding world to leave him alone. Obviously, his education at Durmstrang and his connection to someone like Karkaroff would be topics of interest. People would also try to dissect his loyalties, hoping that he'd declare his allegiance to the light side. Then there'd be wizards and witches who would despise him on principle.

A large oak door led to the conference hall and several Aurors stood guard, having already ushered all guests inside.

"Anyone I need to look out for?" he asked her, not wanting to speak in front of any surprise visitors.

A glance sideways revealed a somewhat disgruntled Minister. The Aurors bowed in greeting.

"Oh, mainly Dumbledore and his entourage," she replied and Harry almost gaped at her, before reminding himself that he needed to appear calm and collected.

"You're telling me this now?" he whispered. Farnes gave him a somewhat cool look in return.

"Believe me, I was hoping he wouldn't come, but our ministry couldn't exactly refuse."

"I don't-" he started but she held up her hand, signaling for the others to open the door.

Harry's heart sped up and his breathing became slightly irregular as soon as he made out the cacophony of voices. Norway's Minister of Magic went inside first and another Auror gestured for Harry to follow her. If anything happened, they would cover his back.

The voices deafened him and the air inside grew stifling. Hundreds of eyes zeroed in on Harry, which just increased the feeling of angry butterflies in his stomach. He swallowed hard.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I'd like to welcome Mr. Harry James Potter," Farnes spoke and her voice carried all across the space, filling the conference room with mounting anticipation.

Harry closed his eyes briefly, gathering his strength.

 _Game on_.

* * *

He hated the brat. He really did.

Everything about Potter screamed James. From the hair to the confident movements, which Severus could only interpret as arrogant swagger. Potter was a replica of his father and he seemed to carry that legacy with nauseous pride, bathing in fame and fortune.

Snape looked him over, noticing the dark grey robes which were of good quality. Even the boy's hair was styled in a somewhat deliberate mess. He could've dealt with a James copy, but there was just one unfortunate fact about Harry Potter that sent ice cold shivers down his spine.

Even from the last row where he sat he could make out the boy's uncanny, bright green eyes.

Lily Potter was gazing at the crowd of people, judging them even in death. Her spirit lingered in the boy's features and it made Snape want to scream.

The boy was tormenting him just by existing.

Slowly, people calmed down from their hysteria, waiting with bated breath for the boy to speak. Whispering could be heard everywhere and next to him Albus sat motionless, his sharp eyes focused on nothing but the boy they've all been waiting for. Their savior.

The boy who had deliberately gone to retrieve a prophecy he should know nothing of...

And the boy who had injured and killed to save himself, using skills far beyond his age.

Snape had remembered warding the entrance to the lower levels on his Lord's orders, but he'd never actually expected to get them tripped, alerting all of them to the boy's plans.

Which meant the Dark Lord must've known more than any of them had at that time. Not even Dumbledore had been prepared to face Harry in such a situation, Snape thought.

He watched as the boy walked to the podium, nodding to the Minister and taking her place to start the press conference.

Severus could see James Potter in him.

But he could also see the potential, the darkness inside the boy that he carried so well. And that made the Potter heir decidedly less than what his name presupposed.

Black eyes narrowed in contemplation. And then the boy began to speak.

"Thank you for coming tonight." The brat smiled pleasantly, nodding in greeting. Several people in the front row seemed to just gobble it all up, buying into Potter's act. But Severus could see the calculative light in green orbs, mirroring Lily whenever she confronted a threat. The boy had something in mind.

"Before we start, I just want to remind you that I'm within my right to refuse answering invasive questions," the boy said and Snape sneered at him. "Of course, I understand that some people might be curious, but I think it's only fair to remember that I'm still a minor and that I do have a right to privacy as much as everyone else."

Norway's leader nodded subtly and Snape caught the satisfaction in her look. She was a harsh and very devious person, from what he knew. Capable and driven in ways Fudge had never been. And now the man was essentially siding with her, a dark witch, just to hold onto what scraps of power he still had. It helped that Farnes had never supported the Dark Lord or any other extremist group, which had secured her own position within the Dark wizarding community, especially amongst those that were searching for a more fitting leader to bring about any changes. For light bigots to go that far as to side with her meant she had used Potter expertly to give her an advantage in this game.

Snape also gave the brat some credit. Potter must've been aware of all that, if the rumors regarding his political aspirations were true. These two were using each other.

What he still couldn't figure out was Potter's endgame. Was the brat loyal to the Dark? A moderate light wizard or an idealist? Or just a kid thrown into the war?

"A question from the Daily Prophet, Mr. Potter," a bald man said, interrupting Snape's thoughts.

"We were informed that you have started to attend Durmstrang Institute two years ago and that you're entering third year under Igor Karkaroff's tutelage." Several gasps and furious voices were heard. Karkaroff invoked unpleasant thoughts amongst both dark and light wizards. "Does this mean you are a Dark Arts practitioner and if so, what is your current stance on light versus dark magic?"

The difficult one first. Snape felt his lips twitching in amusement when he noticed Potter's tense shoulders. But the kid was determined.

"Yes, I'm practicing the Dark Arts and it's true that I'm attending a school that doesn't allow Muggle-borns to attend," Potter intoned. At that, people began to shout obscenities and it took several Aurors and Farnes to calm them down. Potter continued, looking bored.

"We have several dark witches and wizards partnering up with the light side," the boy began and he looked up in Snape's general direction, making him stiffen in surprise. The boy knew?

"Out of respect, I'm asking you not to fuel a debate on the merits of light or dark magic or my stance on Muggles," Potter's stare was hard. "I'm not a dark wizard or a light one and in all the time I've been studying magic I never considered stopping myself from studying both."

"You can't be neutral!" a reporter shouted, furious.

Potter threw a disdainful look her way, completely unimpressed. "I'm turning thirteen soon and there's still much for me to learn. You also need to remember that I defeated a Dark Lord unwittingly. And I'm not about to do so again just because some people expect me to." He paused and his eyes became hooded. "I will fight the Dark Lord if he insists on wanting me dead. But don't expect me to win."

Farnes looked surprised, probably thinking that Potter wasn't following her scripted route.

It still made the room explode in anger and Snape could've laughed at the sheer audacity of some of those people. Potter really had a point and he just deliberately admitted to a weakness just to trash those expectations. It was a dangerous move on the boy's part and from Dumbledore's wary expression a clever one as well. Snape also noticed Potter's respectful address of the Dark Lord with some trepidation.

"But you're the Boy-Who-Lived," another wizard from the front row said. "From what we know, you already battled You-Know-Who just two days ago. How are you still alive then? And if you can't defeat him, what's not to stop you from joining him?"

People in the crowd nodded along, as if that made perfect sense. Some others were throwing Dumbledore curious looks, wondering why he wasn't saying anything.

"Do you really believe I'd willingly join the murderer of my parents?" Harry stated. And his voice was so calm, so very factual, it made all of his critics shut up at once. Awkwardness made itself visible, turning the atmosphere in the hall around.

"Well, we don't know?" a witch with a heavy accent murmured, which made Potter look at her, considering.

"No, you don't. You don't trust me, regardless of my age. But I'm a person and not an object that can be adjusted the right way just to get a certain end result," Potter accused without any real emotion. Here he looked in Dumbledore's direction. It made the blood in Snape's veins freeze.

"All I'm saying is that I never approved of the Dark Lord's methods," he breathed. "I see that the Dark is suffering because of misconceptions and biases. I also understand that we're living in a period of visible, social change and that some things need to be done in order to make life more fulfilling for those that just want to be themselves. And that includes Muggle-born children."

An idealist, Snape thought. Figures.

Silence reigned and from where he was seated, he could see Pius Thicknesse almost boiling over in anger. Another Death Eater somewhere to the left was spying on Potter, together with Rookwood. No doubt, they would tell their master the riveting tale of Potter's passionate speech in detail.

"But I don't think it's going to be easy or that people won't die in the process." Potter sighed. "This is war, but there are other methods to achieve the desired results."

"And do you see yourself as the one to use these methods, Mr. Potter?" a cheerful voice interrupted, the tone sweet and nauseating. Rita Skeeter was in her element, Snape thought.

"Excuse me?" the boy asked.

Skeeter cleared her throat and her quill was almost tearing into the pages, concocting the story of the year.

"Do you see yourself as the savior? The one to bring about changes in the wizarding world? We all know by now that you've been searching for a prophecy, which tells me that there's still information you're withholding. And I assume our readers would like to hear the full story."

Even Dumbledore shifted in his seat, probably curious just how much Potter knew about his destiny. The thought alone made Severus feel disgusted with himself. Too many memories and regrets were brought up. The prophecy was a painful topic.

Suddenly, Potter's expression changed. His calm and serious attitude slipped away like a mask, a forgery making way for the truth. Lips curled, revealing a sharp smile and a boy who wasn't the least bit frightened by the circumstances. No, Potter wasn't just a boy thrown into a war. Nor was he an idealist. Snape thought no foolish child could wear his heart on his sleeve like that and pretend to be a good boy concerned for the world.

"Savior is such a tacky word, don't you think?" Potter smiled, not fooling the Potions Master for a second. "As for my plans...I'm still hoping to finish my education. So you can ask me in five years what I plan to do about the war."

Potter said it like it didn't concern him at all. They didn't have five years, but the brat acted like it was no big deal. As if the Dark Lord's resurrection was just a minor distraction. Snape also noticed that Minister Farnes was displeased with Potter's remark.

The boy was moving his position on the playing field around, expertly avoiding outright confrontation yet also making it clear that he was still a threat if he chose to be. He outlined his terms, telling the audience certain things without telling them much. They didn't know about the content of the prophecy, didn't know why the Dark Lord had let him live, didn't know a single thing about the boy's plans. They only knew about his neutral stance regarding magic and his dissatisfaction with the current oppression in society. And the boy could still lie, could fool them into believing one thing, disregarding anything else.

They had nothing on him.

"You're aware that breaking into the prophecy hall and harming people is a crime?" Skeeter remarked.

"Correct, but so is public slander, defamation of character and several other acts against my person that have been committed over the last two years," Potter replied, making it clear once and for all that as long as they had something minor to use against him, he wouldn't hesitate to do the same with them.

"I'm willing to atone for my so called crimes, but if you consider them more offensive than sending armies after me and threatening my life, then I'm afraid the wizarding world will be lost." Green eyes narrowed and the boy's magic acted up, making Severus realize that the boy was also a threat in terms of magical power. It felt invasive. Uncontrolled yet tremendously addictive.

How was that possible?

"So you better deal with the Voldemort problem and hope that by the time I come of age he's gone," Potter breathed. "Or maybe you really want me to step in and experience what it means to be a  _Savior_  on my terms."

He was mocking them and several people flinched, terrified of the fact the boy had used the Dark Lord's name. Terrified that he abandoned his position, establishing himself as a leader. A mere boy. But still the Boy-Who-Lived.

Snape glanced sideways and knew that Albus was currently trying to figure out how to adjust to this newest development.

Potter smiled, nodded and the conference continued in the same manner.

By the time they were finished, Severus was determined to empty an entire bottle of whiskey.

* * *

Harry got rid of his robe. He felt like he hadn't slept in ages.

After the latest debacle he wanted to disappear for a while, sequestering himself in his manor just to get away from the world. That had gone well, he thought. Granted, Farnes was still furious with him after he disobeyed her orders again, but for now things have settled in nicely.

His house-elf Alby had burned all letters that Harry didn't want to read, which was a lot, but the approving messages from his friends were uplifting. Even Filipp had written him and while Harry couldn't trust the boy after the stunt with his father, the careful advice and appreciation still touched him.

The rest of his summer would be spent trying to figure out how to deal with the hearing. On top of that, he'd have to join Auror training at the ministry, which Harry thought wasn't such a bad idea. Minister Farnes was pushy, but she never deliberately weakened him. He would have access to all the resources Norway's ministry could provide.

He would also continue as her assistant, which meant having several more meetings with other politicians, including Fudge. That wasn't exactly one he was looking forward to, but forming a more firm alliance would benefit them as long as Voldemort was out there.

Speaking of Voldemort...

Harry had received another letter. This one more ominous than all the others.

Malfoy Manor was holding a charity ball for all Death Eater supporters. An illegal meeting, more or less, away from prying eyes.

And Harry was invited.

In not so subtle words, Lucius had also hinted at a certain guest that wanted to speak to him in private. A guest who was still in possession of Harry's wand and would no doubt want the rest of that collection.

The problem was that Harry had no leverage against the Dark Lord. Simply joining the party was akin to suicide, but it was also beneficial to get an update on the man's current plans. After all, he couldn't plan against Voldemort without knowing more about him.

But there was one option Harry could use against him. For now.

However, he needed to speak to Albus Dumbledore in order to do that. And after getting what he wanted from Hogwarts' Headmaster, Harry had every intention to let the world know just how supportive a certain Tom Riddle was of the pure-blood plight. Just as Farnes had planned initially.

Harry sat on his desk and took a quill and more parchment. Meeting Dumbledore in private wasn't the smartest choice for him, but it was time to exchange a few words with the man who would be his headmaster under normal circumstances.

There was also a tiny voice inside him that gleefully reminded him of his own fascination with Hogwarts and his curiosity with all things pertaining to light magic and its people.

In order to get a clear picture on the current situation in the wizarding world, Harry didn't think hiding away at Durmstrang would help him out.

From what he's seen two days ago, Dumbledore was a formidable wizard, with power and wisdom that eclipsed Harry's own expectations. And maybe, just maybe he also wanted to hear the truth.

Harry's insides grew anxious and he put his quill down to touch his chest, feeling the nervous beating of his heart. Something that felt similar to his encounter with Voldemort reminded him that maybe the truth wouldn't be so pleasant.

He tried to ignore the feeling and focused on finishing his letter. After that, he planned to visit Ollivander to get another wand. It was time to arm himself without having other people interfere.

Malfoy's message however stayed on his mind, letting him know that even the best weapon could be useless against a man such as Tom Riddle.

His scar pulsed hotly, agreeing with him.


	18. The Past

"Don't forget to hand in your assignments tomorrow," the teacher, Ms. Pratt warned. Students all around him groaned or glared at her and Harry could see Dudley making a face and giving her the finger as soon as her back was turned. His obnoxious friends snickered at that.

He sighed and continued packing his stuff, hoping that his cousin wouldn't let his frustrations out on him.

School life was difficult as always. No one ever bothered to talk to him and if they did, Dudley quickly pointed out how much of a freak Harry was, which scared people away. They were probably too afraid to stand up for themselves, though. His reputation was basically down to loner status with the occasional beating and Harry-hunting that followed soon after. And he was so tired of it.

Harry was one of the last people to leave the classroom, which didn't go unnoticed by the teacher who threw a pitying look his way. As if that would save him.

She never offered to help.

Grabbing his old backpack, he left the school's building. His shoulders were drawn up in defense and he watched his surroundings behind round-rimmed glasses, not quite sure whether Dudley and his pathetic gang of bullies were waiting for him or not. Children all around him were hugged by their parents and led away, squealing excitedly as they started to tell their mothers and fathers about their day. No one wondered about the strange green-eyed boy who was heading home all by himself.

Harry bit his lip hard.

Today was his 9th birthday.

Not a reason to celebrate and certainly not a date other people cared to remember. As Harry continued walking along the narrow pavement, he wondered if maybe he finally managed to reach his limit.

He hated those kids, to be honest. And he envied them at the same time.

He hated the fact that people were so gullible as to fall for his cousin's lies. He despised them for judging his shoddy appearance. He loathed the teachers who should care for the wellbeing of their students, but didn't.

Harry wasn't supposed to be that kind of person, though. A guilty voice inside him reminded him every single day that hating people wouldn't solve his problems. And another more insistent one always told him to fight back. But staying bitter for the rest of his life was not an option. Needless to say, with guilt came his lack of self-esteem.

At his darkest moments...deep down he wondered if it was his fault.

'I probably deserve it,' he thought. Other kids had it worse. They either lived in a run down Orphanage or on the streets. Harry had a roof over his head and that counted in his mind. He had nothing to complain about.

That was his justification. His reason for remaining calm despite his ongoing misery. Otherwise, he knew he would just turn out bad and prove everyone right. Even himself.

The sun was blazing, its warmth not making him feel better. Absently, he noticed a butterfly that was trying to land on a bush.

Almost mechanically, its wings held the tiny creature up. It continued looking for the perfect petals to land on. Harry observed it, the simplicity of the act making him feel odd, out of sorts.

And then...

"So weak," said an unknown voice.

Harry was abruptly ripped away from his depressing thoughts when he felt someone approaching him from behind. He turned quickly, expecting to be ambushed by one of Dudley's cronies.

But it was a tall, somewhat handsome man dressed completely in black. He'd never seen the guy before, and for a moment Harry thought it was one of those people that preyed on children when school was over. The telly had reported news and events of that kind.

Instantly, he felt a chill running through his body, but his mind remained blank and he eyed the unknown man warily. It would be smarter to run away, though.

Lips twitched in amusement, as if sensing his thoughts.

"It's weak, vulnerable almost. Still, it continues on. And for what?" the man remarked suddenly, eyes fixed on the struggling butterfly. And there was true curiosity in his tone, almost child-like wonder.

"Just  _like you_."

And Harry stiffened when he felt crimson eyes gazing at him, seeing right through his defenses. Those eyes were  _abnormal_.

There was bloodlust in his gaze. A deep satisfaction and thrill for the hunt.

For destruction.

Harry felt fear unlike anything he'd ever felt before. Not even Uncle Vernon could make him feel that way.

The man reached out, his hand coming in contact with Harry's cheek, turning his very skin to ice, before he felt his surroundings falling away, blurring so as to replace it with a new image.

Darkness closed in, trapping him in a living, pulsing cage of menacing power and then...

...there was an office.

He didn't know where he was exactly, but another person moved forward, stepping closer and replacing the image of the handsome man with a weathered, old face and an ugly smirk.

"Did you manage to save us, you pathetic boy?" the old man snarked, brushing invisible dust away from his pristine, silver robes. Harry stepped back on instinct, wondering what the hell was going on.

"What?"

The unknown individual didn't seem to be deterred. Bony hands slapped hard against the surface of his desk and he leaned forward, trying to make himself look more imposing.

"Not what! You know exactly what I'm talking about," the man sneered. "Of course, you didn't save us. All my hard work and you practically throw yourself at the Dark Lord. What do you think you're doing? Consorting with the enemy?"

Harry gaped, not understanding anything.

"I don't-" he began, but the old man held up his hand to silence him.

"You think you have the upper hand in this war, but your little speech will only make him want to kill you that much more. And if you die, then I'm going down as well. And the rest of this school, including your friends will meet the same end," Karkaroff threatened.

That name.

As soon as Harry became aware of the man's identity, the image fell away again, imploding as easily as the first one.

This time, everything became white, blinding the boy in its intensity. He couldn't see a ground or the walls. In fact, the room was more or less shapeless, an eternity of light that seemed to just go and on, never getting darker.

The thought made him feel sick.

Harry looked around and was somewhat relieved to see that he wasn't alone in this place.

There was an old man with funny lime-green robes just standing right next to him. His blue eyes however looked reproachful, a stark contrast to his gentle outward appearance.

"You murdered people, Harry. And you will continue to do so. Which is why I can't save you anymore," the bearded man said. "Your soul will be damaged, just like Tom's."

Denial shook his body and mind.

"No," Harry breathed, putting more distance between them.

Dumbledore smiled, but there was a foreboding sadness in his expression.

"You will become the very thing you seem to dislike and no amount of remorse will make up for the crimes you will commit in the future," the powerful wizard stated calmly, as if reciting facts.

Harry's heart seemed to expand and the chill in his body worsened, consuming him entirely.

"I won't," he spat, turning away towards the blinding, white light. He wouldn't. He was not Voldemort.

He didn't kill for fun. He didn't hate Muggles. He was not a murderer. He wasn't...

"Oh, but you will be,  _boy,_ " the handsome man, Voldemort whispered in his ear. "And don't lie to yourself, Harry. You hate them. You hate your cousin, your family, and you dream of the day when you can free yourself from the chains of your shameful past, stomping down on your tormentors, watching as the light leaves their eyes," he hissed. "You don't want to be weak, do you?"

Crimson eyes gleamed in the light, and dark robes chased all whiteness away. A single butterfly flying aimlessly in the vast space suddenly turned to ashes.

The sight was oddly comforting. More so than Dumbledore's presence.

"I-" he began, numb to his senses.

"Freak!" Dudley screamed from afar, repeating the word over and over again, like an echo. Freak, freak, freak.

Dumbledore continued to look at him, seeing nothing but a failure, a mistake in a grand scheme of perfection.

Harry's hands trembled and without thinking about the consequences he reached out blindly, grasping the elegant, yet cold hand of the Dark Lord who smiled at that, watching the headmaster in triumph.

The whiteness fell apart.

* * *

Green eyes blinked open rapidly. Reality slipped into awareness and he woke up.

Belatedly, he noticed that his house-elf was already in the room. Which meant he was safe at home.

"Is Master Harry not feeling well," Libby asked, handing him a cup of tea as soon as Harry managed to get up.

Of course he wasn't okay and the bizarre dream seemed to follow him into this world, even though he was wide awake and breathing heavily.

"I'm fine." Pale hands reached out, grasping the porcelain tightly.

His house-elf looked dubious, probably noticing the trembling fingers and his sweaty, tired appearance. But Harry dismissed her. He wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone, much less willing to retell his nightmare. In fact, it would be brilliant to simply stay in bed all day.

Unfortunately, he couldn't avoid people. Especially today.

His 13th birthday would be celebrated with a couple of friends at Potter manor, despite potential security risks. It was an inconvenient affair and not his idea in the first place, but Harry was somewhat determined not to let his feelings spoil the event, despite not caring much about a mere number.

The dream distracted him, though. No amount of celebration could change that. Harry dressed himself carefully and willed his body to be in control, pushing stray thoughts and worries aside.

Three hours later he felt like screaming and chasing everyone away.

The Robards girl was laughing at Danielle's joke. Both of them had brought alcohol for the party, which wasn't exactly the smartest thing to do with so many underage people in the vicinity. Harry rubbed his forehead, annoyed with all the sounds and screaming.

Some of Viktor's friends were currently dancing to the Weird Sisters' latest garbage and a boy from Harry's year had enchanted several balloons to pop as soon as they managed to float inches above someone's head.

"Having fun?" Viktor mocked, noticing Harry's dark expression. They were standing near the fireplace, observing the others quietly.

"Time of my life, really," Harry drawled. "Who would've thought they'd turn into raging, hormone-driven monsters at my birthday party?"

The Potter ancestors inside the countless portraits looked horrified. It was quite funny to watch ancient-looking hags trying to chastise rowdy teenagers.

"You have that effect on people." Krum smirked, evidently enjoying himself.

Harry smiled back, watching as Danielle spilled Butterbeer on someone's trousers. Accidentally, of course.

"Obviously it's not working on you." Harry's smile widened. Teasing Krum would never fail to amuse him. The Bulgarian was always so distant at school, with so many people and fans all flocking around him. But his mask slipped away on occasion.

"I'm too old for these silly games," the boy replied. "And too old to fall for your charms," he added pointedly, still smirking.

"You wound me."

Krum patted his shoulder. "Don't vorry, Potter. You'll find your match soon enough. Maybe the young Dolohov boy vould be an option, hm?"

For once, Harry didn't know what to say to that.

Green eyes followed the older student who joined the rest of the crowd, leaving Harry to his thoughts. Evidently, the others wouldn't leave the issue alone. Dolohov had been kind enough to owl his birthday present, which was a total surprise, since Harry never expected to get anything from a Death Eater baby. Neither did his friends.

They weren't exactly close and the issue of his father's involvement and secrets created a solid wall between them. Still, Harry didn't know what to make of Filipp. His actions confused him more and more.

Nevertheless, he vowed to clear it up once and for all. They were in the trenches of a war that determined, which side would be picked in the end. He couldn't afford to blur the lines between friendship and enmity.

Picking up his cup, he joined the party.

Dolohov's gift, a book on secret wizarding societies was left forgotten on the mantlepiece.

* * *

Diagon Alley was packed with students, teachers and suspicious wizards and witches selling items to unsuspecting people. Harry adjusted his hood, falling in step with an elderly couple that was heading for Ollivanders.

The cheery atmosphere he came to expect didn't quite reach London's magical communities. The Dark Lord's reputation threw the entire British wizarding world into another state of unease, what with people hurrying to get back home, looking over their shoulders constantly and so on.

It was a shame.

He would've liked to visit Diagon Alley without the looming war shrouding such colorful streets in darkness.

Still, there were shops selling robes, windows displaying books, quills and Quidditch items, and even high-end instruments for Potions and Runes Masters. Gringotts Wizarding Bank caught his eye, but he no longer had any dealings with the London branch. He would've liked to visit the building, though.

Harry made sure that his borrowed wand was carefully hidden away from sight. It didn't work quite as well as Yassine's creation did, but it was still one of the set that Voldemort was looking for. He'd be damned if he accidentally lost this one as well.

Reaching South Side, he finally saw the shop, a shabby building with peeling, gold letters over the door. Unlike Yassine's or even Gregorovitch's fancy display, Ollivander only had a single wand lying on a faded, purple cushion as display.

The couple opened the door and Harry followed after them, examining the tiny space and the narrow boxes piled up everywhere. The inside looked similar to Mykew's shop, but the atmosphere felt different to him. Less intimidating.

"Mr. and Mrs. Lee, I'll be with you in a minute," a tiny man called from somewhere behind Harry.

Garrick Ollivander shuffled past him with several boxes in his arms. Pale, silver eyes caught Harry's look, revealing recognition, before he turned away. Instantly, Harry felt on edge, knowing that his feeble disguise wouldn't hold in the man's presence. The old man approached the couple and ignored him for the next hour, though. It was enough time for him to inspect the shop more closely.

It was boring.

Thankfully, the two finally left after having bought a new wand, but that didn't lessen the awkwardness he felt in Ollivander's presence. The old man certainly took his time, before addressing him for the first time.

"Mr. Potter, I was expecting you," Garrick said, smiling gently.

Harry sighed and proceeded to cancel his weak glamour. Unfortunately, that move brought Ollivander's attention to his borrowed wand.

"I see."

The old wandmaker hummed in thought. "Dementors aren't the most convenient use. But then Carolina was always a bit more ruthless in her pursuit of an old legend."

"Legend, sir?" Harry asked, already sensing that this conversation would reveal certain things. He didn't trust Ollivander, but the man's approach was refreshing.

"I believe you know what I'm talking about," Garrick said and his eyes looked past him, remembering something.

"The Deathly Hallows? You mean the Elder Wand?" Harry lowered his voice, not sure if revealing such information was wise. But apparently it was unnecessary. Ollivander didn't seem like the type who would judge him for knowing too much.

"Indeed. Unfortunately, Carolina is no Antioch Peverell and imitating the work of Death is like asking for a similar fate," he stated gravely, watching Harry for a reaction.

He knew where this was going. But it wouldn't hurt to confirm the wandmaker's suspicions. Harry nodded, pocketing his wand.

"She's dead. Voldemort killed her, I think."

The statement lingered between them, but Ollivander only shook his head sadly, turning away from Harry after a while.

"It was unwise of her to seek revenge. She abused our craft, never regretting her actions despite my warnings. Nevertheless, there will be others to follow her path, seeking nothing but destruction of a single man."

Harry followed him to the back of the shop, eyeing the man's frail body and tired appearance.

"I'm surprised you'd call the Dark Lord a man? Most people I know think he's nothing but a soulless monster," Harry said, carefully leaving out the fact that he'd felt the same way for a long time.

Garrick glanced sideways, mirth shining in silver pools.

"Oh, his actions are certainly terrible, but he's also capable of greatness, Mr. Potter. More than that. A soulless monster wouldn't feel compelled to change the world. He'd only feel the need to destroy it."

Ollivander put several boxes aside, leaving a bit of space on his desk. Harry simply stood there, feeling restless.

Didn't Voldemort want to destroy the wizarding world? His actions during the First War came close to that, but Ollivander seemed to hold the Dark Lord in twisted, high regard in spite of that.

"He almost did. I read all about it," he replied, crossing his arms. "The giants attacking small wizarding communities, the Dementors in Muggle London... It was senseless and stupid and just drove pure-blood families out of power. They aren't regarded nearly as well as they were before the war."

Ollivander raised an eyebrow. "You seem to care more about the privileged than those living in misfortune," he said. It was insulting. An accusation Harry couldn't just accept, since it was baseless.

Krum's family was pure-blood and came from a line of mostly dark witches and wizards and they weren't privileged by any stretch of the imagination. Several others at school came to mind, those that were constantly bullied by wealthy children.

Something must've shown on his face, because Ollivander simply held his hand up in apology, before returning to his task, putting more boxes back on the shelves.

"I believe you, Mr. Potter. I believe you care about your comrades at Durmstrang and I also believe you aren't prejudiced. Needless to say, your willingness to support certain people isn't received well by everyone."

"I know that," Harry said, unimpressed. Really, the wandmaker reminded him of Gregorovitch a bit, blunt and to the point.

"Unfortunately, we can't suddenly change the minds of the old ones." Garrick sighed, looking weary.

"Then start with young people. Change the education system, don't make every witch and wizard in London think that pure-blood families are the spitting image of Malfoy."

It had been on his mind for a while. Harry wasn't convinced it'd work right away, but ending the biased education at Hogwarts would definitely make people think twice before labeling every dark witch or wizard evil. It was the root of all problems. The misconceptions between light and dark ran deeply in every corner of their society. No wonder, Voldemort had such an easy time turning people into extremists.

Ollivander's stare however sharpened, as if seeing something in Harry that must've given him an insight.

"It's a worthy attempt." And suddenly he smiled brightly, pointing at the stacks of wands to his right.

"I believe you're looking for another wand."

Thrown off course, Harry only nodded, thinking that Ollivander must've deliberately steered that conversation in a certain direction. In the end, he started looking, mindful of the eyes, which were fixed on his back, seeing everything at once.

It took him two more hours and even more frayed nerves to finally find his match. His thoughts were alternating between Voldemort, the war and his new wand. It felt incredibly warm and was easy to handle. He brought it swishing down through the air, creating gold sparks. His excitement must've been evident. Ollivander simply clapped his hands.

"Ah, holly and phoenix feather, 11 inches, nice and supple. A loyal companion."

Then, the atmosphere changed and Harry's mood plummeted after listening to Ollivander's next explanation.

He was holding the brother wand to Voldemort's in his hand.

Suddenly, his dream didn't seem that far-fetched and faux-Dumbledore's words were permanently stuck. He had more in common with the Dark Lord than he liked to admit. The prophecy proved it and his magic seemed almost compatible with Riddle's.

"Don't despair, Mr. Potter. Greatness comes in many forms and your path can differ from the one He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named took. I believe you already triggered it." And with that Ollivander gave him another enigmatic smile.

He paid for his new wand and turned around, wanting nothing more than to leave this dusty room.

"Before you go, I'd like to warn you, though." Garrick paused, thinking deeply over his next words. "The fake Elder Wands. Find a way to dispose of them. It's better to let Carolina's legacy perish with her, for your own safety."

And with that he turned his back to him, leaving Harry confused and slightly alarmed.

* * *

He had some time left before Farnes would call him back to the Ministry. As a result, Harry took the time to explore Diagon Alley, buying several books to his growing collection and also robes and cauldrons. He didn't like to spend so much money on potions supplies, but with Ollivander's parting words the need for more experiments was self-evident.

Oh, he knew the rest of Yassine's gang would probably try to kidnap him or something equally terrible, but before that could happen, he was determined to work on the set.

The same couldn't be said about his first wand, which was still in Voldemort's possession. Stealing it back wouldn't work, unless he confronted the Dark Lord again. And who knew what the twisted wizard had already done to it?

After walking around aimlessly, he noticed the dark alleyway which led to the infamous Knockturn Alley shopping area.

Shaking his head and exhaling slowly, Harry decided to take a quick look.

'I'm asking for it' he thought.

If Voldemort's people or the association saw him, he'd be in trouble. Checking whether his glamour was in place, Harry breathed deeply and pulled his hood up, following a man who entered the alleyway.

This was almost too easy.

The place lived up to its name. Shops that looked as if someone had designed a set for a horror movie were selling items such as human bones, poisonous candles and potions using ingredients like human brain mass.

How the hell was this place not raided by the Aurors? Harry eyed a cursed, opal necklace that was proudly displayed at a shop called Borgin and Burkes. The same shop Hepzibah Smith had mentioned in her journal.

Fuck...

Harry stared at the building, disbelieving. That was the same one Voldemort had worked at.

Tempting fate sounded awfully like another perfect adventure, but this time he decided to just let it go and stay away from the shop, despite feeling curious. 'Maybe next time,' he thought, amused.

After walking around some more, he reached a pub called The White Wyvern. It was located near Markus Scarrs Indelible Tattoos and deciding quickly, he entered the dingy pub, relieved when he noticed that no charms had accidentally destroyed his glamour. In fact, most people in this particular pub seemed to value anonymity.

The smoke inside the room deliberately twisted in forms resembling Wyverns, dancing above the heads of several customers who were dressed the same way as Harry, with hoods drawn up and clad in black cloaks that screamed 'I'm suspicious'. Snakes and portraits of skulls decorated dark panels. Wooden tables were scattered everywhere and nobody paid him any attention. He took a seat near the bar and ordered water, ignoring the scathing look the barman sent his way.

People talked in hushed voices, leaning away from others so as not the attract too much attention. From where he sat, he could clearly see a group of vampires exchanging vials, probably dealing with fresh human blood. An old man who was missing his teeth glared at them.

So far, he couldn't make out any masks resembling Death Eaters and he didn't recognize anyone. It didn't tell him much, though. Most of these people probably used glamours or potions to hide their real appearance.

Then, something caught his eye.

Four men sat a bit off to the side, talking heatedly and ignoring everything around them. One of the men hissed some sort of insult, addressing a frail, unassuming person. The harmless one appeared different from the others, thin and weak compared to their bulky selves. But there was a stern and unwavering strength in green eyes. Under the light, those eyes almost flashed amber. Harry eyed the dirty, light brown hair and the tattered robe. Something about this person seemed to draw him in and he didn't know why.

Fortunately, he was close enough to listen in.

"I tell you, Lupin. You're a fool. Siding with them is betrayal. You know that, right?" the man to Lupin's right said.

Harry nearly fell out of his chair after hearing that name.

What the hell? Lupin?

The same Lupin his father had mentioned in his letters? The one with the furry problems?

As far as Harry could tell, he didn't know of any other Lupin family members in the wizarding world and he'd studied the records for ages.

"Siding with Him is even worse, Gallaway. I don't care how much he offered you. If you go through with this, you doom every single one of us. Or maybe you need a reminder of the death toll he caused when a certain someone declared his loyalty to Him," Lupin spat.

The barman almost spilled Harry's water on him, interrupting his thoughts.

If this person was really Remus Lupin, what was he doing in the company of those shady wizards in the middle of Knockturn Alley?

Too bad, Minister Farnes decided that now was the perfect time to call him back to the Ministry. His pendant heated up, alerting him at once and Harry sighed, paying the barman for something he never intended to drink.

As he left the building, he never noticed Lupin's eyes tracking his movements carefully.

* * *

One thing could be said about Hogwarts. The castle outshone Durmstrang by far; symbolic for the famous founders of this school and representing the stronghold of Dumbledore's power.

Harry was impressed, taking the last steps and stopping in front of the gargoyles that guarded the headmaster's office.

"Sherbet Lemon," said Harry, feeling ridiculous.

Dumbledore's invitation had come without much questions and he wouldn't admit it, but he was scared and excited at the same time. At the press conference, he'd felt the man's overwhelming magic at once and this time it wasn't different.

The circular stone staircase began to move, leading up to the office and as soon as he reached the door, a calm voice told him to enter.

Harry immediately tried to control his expression, not wanting to look like a kid in a candy store. The large and beautiful circular room contained so many strange, silver instruments that sparked his curiosity. Even the numerous portraits of past headmasters and headmistresses outstripped the Potter manor's collection of dead people as decoration.

Dumbledore waved him inside, smiling at him. Blue eyes twinkled happily, watching him behind half-moon glasses.

"Hello, Professor," Harry greeted, taking a seat.

The sight of flying candies on Dumbledore's robes was absolutely comical, but Harry clamped down on his amusement.

"It's so nice to finally meet you. I was hoping we could talk after your press conference." the old wizard replied. "Lemon drop?"

Harry shook his head, declining the offer. The man's obsession with candy was starting to worry him.

"Sorry for that, sir," he said eventually. "Rita Skeeter looked like she wanted to tie me to a chair after my interview. I didn't feel safe anymore."

Dumbledore nodded, stroking his long beard. "It's understandable, my boy. Ms. Skeeter can be quite...persistent at times." The headmaster chuckled.

He looked nothing like the Dumbledore in his dreams who had damned him, comparing Harry to Voldemort. And for a moment he felt his eyes glazing over, remembering the harsh words and feeling so small, surrounded by all this artificial, white light.

"Are you alright, Harry?" Dumbledore asked suddenly, true concern showing in his expression.

Harry rid himself of the image, using his Occlumency shields to get back to reality. "I'm fine."

It was obvious the headmaster didn't believe him, but thankfully he didn't push the issue. Nearby, a beautiful phoenix let out a soothing thrill, watching the two intently.

"From what I've heard, the last two years must've been difficult for you." Dumbledore's cheerful demeanor from before fell away, leaving nothing but curiosity, worry and a strange sense of calculation behind.

Harry didn't like it, but he came here to get more answers and information on Riddle. There was no time for secrecy.

"Difficult? Yes," he replied carefully. "I'm just surprised Voldemort didn't kill me yet."

The use of the Dark Lord's name seemed to intrigue the headmaster, but he didn't say anything to that.

"Tom's actions are surprising. Certainly not what I expected either, but then I believe the mystery has more to do with the way he was resurrected rather than sudden conscience and concern on his part."

"Do you know anything, Professor?" Harry asked, not wanting to sound eager. Still, Dumbledore frowned at him.

"Hm, I have theories and half-formed ideas, but Tom was never the type to leave any evidence behind. I'm afraid Neville is forever lost to us, though."

The sudden mention of Longbottom surprised Harry.

"So you believe Neville had something to do with Voldemort's resurrection," he prompted. He already knew this.

Evidently, that was the wrong thing to say, because blue eyes sharped. Instantly, Harry realized that his lack of concern for the boy's fate must've been the issue and for a moment he cursed himself. People like Dumbledore would judge him, if he didn't display the proper amount of sadness in the face of someone's death.

Still, the hypocrisy of it all made Harry's insides boil over. Not for a moment did he believe that Dumbledore felt true sadness for the death of a schoolboy. Even his language revealed that. Speaking of a boy who was  _lost to them_. Like a useful toy for the light side.

"I don't believe it. I'm  _convinced_  that Lord Voldemort used our young Neville to return back to his real body. As for the details, I don't know how he achieved that," the headmaster said, still eyeing Harry carefully.

"Is there anything we can do? Anything that can be used against him." Deciding to push forward, Harry narrowed his eyes, inspecting the man's aged features closely.

The portraits above them pretended to sleep, but he could make out several fake noises.

"You must understand, my boy. Tom Riddle used to be a student of mine. There are many observations I made, even before the start of his illustrious school career. Secrets that surround him and memories that just might be the key to defeat him," Dumbledore admitted, sighing heavily at the end.

Harry was completely floored. Anger, which had been building up after the deliberate attempt to test him, made itself known. He felt a voice inside him urging him on, increasing the feeling tenfold.

"And you haven't done anything yet?" he asked, belatedly adding a 'sir' after noticing the headmaster's reproachful look.

Dumbledore suddenly reached for something under the desk, pulling out a small package. He handed it over without saying anything.

Harry wasn't sure what to do with it, but the headmaster urged him to open the lid. Once he did, a beautiful cloak was revealed. The material shimmered and felt soft and Harry was transfixed.

"I believe it was your father's invisibility cloak. Therefore it's yours, Harry. Use it well."

"Why?" he asked without looking up. Why now? Why not send him the cloak. Was it an attempt to gain Harry's loyalty? A bribery in return for more cooperation on his part?

Dumbledore's voice was stern, yet full of conviction. "Because I believe I can trust you. After realizing that you managed to make it back to the wizarding world without my help, it's only fair for me to step in now and give something back to you, something that might aid you in the future. And you know much more about your fate than I expected, which is why it's necessary for you to have the tools to defend yourself against Tom or other people."

"That's awfully kind of you," Harry said, feeling bitter. He got something that belonged to him anyway. Fantastic.

"I know you feel angry."

Harry laughed.

"Angry? Why would I feel angry? But if you want to play that kind of game, Headmaster, I'd like to ask you something," Harry said finally, needing the truth. Needing it so much it hurt.

"What do you want to know, my boy?" Dumbledore's blue eyes were kind, yet the heaviness couldn't be masked.

"After my parents died, did you-" he paused, inhaling the humid air inside the office. There was  _so much magic_  in here. It nearly made him choke on it. "Did you leave me with the Dursleys?"

It was out. But he would be damned if he started to show his feelings after saying those words.

"I did," Dumbledore admitted tonelessly. "The blood wards made it necessary and it was the only place where you could be safe."

Safe? That was a joke, right?

"Blood wards?" Harry asked.

And then he got the full story, which made him laugh that much harder. With every single word that Dumbledore uttered, the excuses just seem to pile up, leaving nothing but a lonely, bitter boy who had reached out at some point and got nothing in return.

But he did get something. The truth. Not the truth about Voldemort.

The truth about him.

He was another Neville Longbottom. Just as expected.

"I would like to show you some of my memories, if you want to learn more about Tom's past," Dumbledore offered in the end. Harry just shook his head, putting the cloak back in the box and using his new wand to shrink the package. Dumbledore didn't seem all that surprised, but his eyes followed the movements of Harry's wand, making the boy even more suspicious.

Ollivander must've contacted the headmaster.

"A gracious offer. But I have to decline."

"Harry," Dumbledore called gently.

He knew it was irrational of him, but he needed the time to think about the latest events. The blood wards wouldn't work anymore. Of that, Harry was certain. The Dursleys weren't his family, as far as he was concerned and he doubted he could ever call that place his home.

"If you want me to work with you, you should start treating me like a living being instead of another Neville. Unless you want  _me_  dead, that is," Harry challenged.

Dumbledore didn't react to his harsh words and it was that result which made Harry's bright green eyes widen in shock.

No way.

All this talk about blood wards and keeping him alive...

The headmaster leaned forward, reaching out and touching Harry's hand lightly.

"You are a person and you deserve all that life can give you, Harry. Never forget that," Dumbledore murmured, holding his gaze.

In his other hand he held a vial containing a memory, which he handed over wordlessly, giving Harry the opportunity to look at the memories in private. It must've been pre-planned, since Harry had never seen him looking for it.

He accepted the gift, not believing a single word that came out of the headmaster's mouth. Both of them had a vastly different understanding of the things Harry deserved in life.

* * *

The garden at Malfoy Manor was perfect in a way his aunt could only dream about. Harry followed a couple of snobbish, elderly pure-bloods into the manor, observing everything carefully. It was quite crowded. His hood was drawn up so as not to cause unnecessary delays, but he knew people would recognize him instantly. Still, he didn't feel very comfortable.

Luminous ornaments in blue and violet floated above immaculate white roses and peacocks strutted around, uncaring of the tiny crowd of young children that watched them in fascination. It must've been overkill, if the kids weren't accustomed to having these kind of animals in their gardens.

Summer crept across the estate, and the slight breeze infused the air with the fresh scent of magnolias and something foreign, exotic almost. The blazing sun was making way for a starry night.

The manor was absolutely ridiculous, screaming wealth left and right. At the door, someone offered to take his cloak, glaring at him when he recognized Harry. Death Eaters were a funny bunch.

He entered the foyer, mindful of the looks and hissed words. People all around him were staring, temporarily forgetting their manners in favor of more gossip.

True, having the half-blood, infamous Harry Potter at a charity ball for orphaned, dark wizarding children didn't quite fit the image. But he could say the same about this event, which simply was a cover to recruit more people to their side. No one seemed to care much about orphans.

Minister Farnes wasn't invited. Neither were people like the Krums or some of his acquaintances at Durmstrang. This was what bothered him as well.

The dark wizarding community was extremely selective about the type of people they courted to their side, proving several light wizards right. You had to be pure-blood, a Muggle hater or both. Influence and wealth were the cherries on top of this nasty business. And Voldemort was controlling everything.

"Welcome to Malfoy Manor," a boy sneered, holding up his hand for Harry to shake. He turned towards the boy, taking in the spitting image of a certain wizard he'd dealt with before.

"You must be Draco Malfoy." Raising his arm, he grasped the boy's surprisingly sweaty palm, rolling his eyes when he noticed the slight blush that stained pale cheeks. At the same time, grey eyes were fixed on his scar.

"Good guess, Potter. How did you know?" Malfoy asked, raising his head a bit.

Harry smirked.

"Oh I don't know. The warm welcome maybe, or the blond hair, your pointy features or your snotty attitude. Take your pick."

Malfoy blushed harder, this time more in anger than embarrassment. "You-"

Harry interrupted him, not wanting to listen to his whiny voice any longer.

"Just take me to your master. I'm sure he's dying to see me again." Harry shoved the arm away from him. He hadn't forgotten the vow, knowing that he wasn't allowed to harm Lucius' family on the battlefield. It seemed like a waste.

Draco sputtered angrily and only Harry's impatient look made him remember his pure-blood etiquette training.

"Follow me," the boy spat.

And Harry did, mindful of the invisibility cloak he was carrying with him, and the entire set of wands he was about to hand over.

His life sucked. And Voldemort's insidious, seductive power that was all over this place certainly didn't help.


	19. The Dark Lord's Truce

They were practically neighbors.

Malfoy Manor was located in Wiltshire, not far from where Harry lived at the moment. The manor's grounds had the same, flawless warding system as Potter manor in place. Security levels for this particular event were almost unprecedented, according to various guests. Hidden by a strong Fidelius, no Auror could invade or attack tonight's proceedings.

And if they did, Voldemort's best would be waiting.

Harry had been forced to sign an unbreakable contract to keep the manor's secrets to himself, courtesy of Lucius bloody Malfoy. But that didn't stop him from looking around curiously, cataloguing all oddities in his mind and planning potential escape routes.

Ahead of him, the Malfoy heir assumed a confident pose, striding across the ballroom and heading for the backyard. Draco looked bored, but beneath that facade the nervousness seeped out like water from a broken faucet.

Luckily, the staring and whispering came to an abrupt end as soon as Harry crossed the threshold to the drawing room. Several Death Eaters patrolled this part of the manor, making sure that no guest ventured inside. There was a clear distinction in social hierarchy, from what Harry noticed. No-name politicians from several European countries weren't allowed to approach the Dark Lord directly, which is why most important guests remained in the designated area, far away from the common crowd. House-elves tended to their every needs, though, numbing their minds with more alcohol.

Harry recognized a few faces, Fjodor Gladow's repugnant smile just one of many. The man had the audacity to wink at him, after having done almost everything to stop the financial support for Farnes' most recent projects. Apparently, word had gotten out just how deeply involved Harry was in Voldemort's affairs, because Gladow didn't seem surprised to see him here.

The Potter heir followed Malfoy to the backyard, bypassing gawking and sneering Death Eaters along the way. He would have to deal with some rumors surrounding his person. It was unfortunate.

Eventually, they got to the patio where Narcissa Malfoy was already waiting anxiously.

"Mother," Draco greeted without emotion. In turn, the stunning matriarch touched his arm lightly, indicating for him to leave when she noticed Harry behind him.

He eyed the two of them carefully.

This wasn't the affectionate interaction between mother and son. No, far from it. They acted similar to mannequins pretending to form a family unit instead of actually trying to be one. Of course, he didn't want to judge them right off the bat. But it wasn't hard to see beyond pure-blood masks when Malfoy simply bowed his head and left without another word. No questions asked.

"Mr. Potter. I'm pleased to welcome you at my home," she began, gazing at him cooly. Harry lifted his arm, grasping her hand firmly and doing the customary greeting for politeness' sake. It was the right thing to do. Narcissa's eyes lost some of their hardness, no doubt having expected different things from him.

She even looked him up and down, just to check whether he 'fit in'.

"You have a beautiful manor, Mrs. Malfoy. Thanks for inviting me," he said. Her tight-lipped smile was all the answer he needed, since Harry's presence had everything to do with a certain Lord and nothing at all to do with her.

"Please follow me. The Dark Lord is already waiting." With that, she turned around, back rigid. And Harry sighed mentally, preparing himself for what was to come.

He wasn't really prepared, though. It was vital that he got out of here without a scratch tonight, but it all hinged on Voldemort's mood. The unpredictable man could've obviously decided to simply off him. And there was hardly anything Harry could do about it.

If Voldemort didn't manage, Karkaroff and Farnes would probably kill him for what he was attempting to do.

The night's sky chased the last rays of light away. Around him, animals awakened and small bulbs of magical light hovered above plants, turning the ground into a glittering garden. It looked ethereal to him, beautiful in ways he never imagined in a place such as Malfoy Manor.

And it didn't fit the image of this event at all.

Mrs. Malfoy led him to the garden seating area, where dozens of Death Eaters were already sucking up to their Lord. The very idea that he'd have to interact with the man made Harry's stomach turn. Nervousness and barely hidden excitement ignited him and he didn't know what to make of his own reactions and thoughts. The blood ritual and the Dark Lord's casual destruction of an entire secret army was still fresh on his mind, not to mention Black's demise at the hands of this person. He shouldn't be excited at all.

Just what was it about the Dark Lord that made him react like that?

Surrounded by his most loyal, there was definitely no escape possible for him. Harry's lips thinned in displeasure as soon as he noticed the heavy stare on him. His arrival didn't go unnoticed, of course. The hushed voices and pointed stares threw his presence into the limelight, to his misfortune.

Having bloodthirsty criminals vying for his death at a party was one thing. Adding jealousy and envy to the mix just made Harry's situation even less pleasant. It seemed none of these people appreciated the Dark Lord's unwavering attention on his nemesis. Unfortunately, Harry's own attention was solely fixed on the incredibly powerful man. So he really couldn't claim innocence.

The man sat amongst them, a king surrounded by his most devoted. And his stare turned mocking, malicious even. Harry stepped forward, gazing at the Dark Lord without emotion. He wouldn't show his apprehension, despite wanting to just turn around and leave.

He couldn't be weak.

Narcissa bowed lowly and presented Harry like an offering, a sacrifice on display for a God. Bypassing the pleasantries, Harry headed straight for the only available seat next to Lucius. His attitude just riled them up even further, which made Harry smirk in spite of everything.

The Dark Lord's eyes never left his form.

Grabbing an apple from one of the plates that provided food, Harry bit into it with relish, right in front them. He made himself more comfortable, shifting a bit in the luxurious, white upholstery of his seat. Right next to him, he noticed Malfoy's grimace, but grey eyes also gleamed in barely hidden amusement.

The patriarch must've enjoyed his insolence, for one reason or another. How interesting...

"Harry Potter," the Dark Lord began, making his followers freeze in anticipation. "I'm pleasantly surprised you decided to accept my invitation." The man's hand reached for a glass and Voldemort's expression turned thoughtful, accessing him further.

"And miss out on all the fun, my Lord?" Taking another bite, green eyes settled on the Dark Lord without fear, despite the lightheadedness he felt inside him.

"You must be suicidal to approach us so casually, Potter," a burly, blond Death Eater spat, his plain features twisted in a snarl. "Why, your parents certainly acted the same way, rotten-"

Harry's eyes narrowed and he felt his magic rise to the challenge. It squeezed, temporarily wrapping invisible tendrils around the man's throat, which cut off his insults, much to the surprise of the rest of them. Another little trick he learned from Eileen. Wandless magic -even unpolished during the stages of its youthful development- could kill a person if the intent behind it was strong enough to manifest itself outwardly. The Dursleys had at one point experienced the brunt of Harry's anger, even if he hadn't known at that time what to do with his magic. And right now he was beyond the point of caring, especially when pathetic Death Eaters like Rowle were starting to hurl insults at him, targeting his parents.

"Maybe your feeble mind didn't grasp the fact that your Lord doesn't appreciate it when his followers decide to speak for him," Harry said. Some of them turned, sensing their Lord's darkening mood at once.

Riddle's finger glided along the rim of his cognac glass and those eyes watched dispassionately as Harry's magic started to choke one of his Death Eaters.

Harry let go of the struggling man eventually, taking another bite of his apple and closing his eyes to reign in his temper. To get his control back. Lord Voldemort's voice however glided over him like velvet, making it almost impossible.

"Curious, isn't it, Rowle?" the Dark Lord whispered, addressing the gasping wizard. "My enemies behave far more courteous these days than my own followers. You'd do well to remember Potter's words."

The statement caused a rippled chain reaction. Lucius visibly frowned and Yaxley openly gawked at their Lord, probably having expected killing curses to start flying between them.

Harry was also surprised at the enemy label. Not necessarily because he thought they were past that point. No, he'd always considered that Voldemort wouldn't care much about a teenager. Being an enemy sounded like he was being noticed and therefore considered a viable threat. In a twisted way it complimented him, which made Harry smile wryly. He lowered his head to hide it.

"Now that this has been sorted out, I believe introductions are in order," the Dark Lord said quietly. Harry finished eating and carefully deposited the remaining bits of his food on Lucius' plate.

Malfoy's reaction was priceless.

"Not really. I've met Malfoy already, as you know. And Yaxley was stubborn enough to show his face in Norway from time to time." From the Dark Lord's knowing look, he didn't need to explain further. Yaxley was a good politician, albeit too flashy for Harry's tastes.

Scratching his chin, he tried to recognize the people around him from every file about the Dark Lord's followers he'd gotten his hands on. He recognized Octavian Greengrass, sitting to Rowle's right. The arrogant wizard threw a disdainful look his way, which didn't bother Harry too much. Then there were several others, notorious for their crimes and those that hadn't done much, but were still considered close allies. Amongst them, Harry suddenly locked eyes with Antonin Dolohov, Filipp's father. The double agent remained stoic, his features so very similar to his son's when the boy turned thoughtful. Harry wondered just how the man had managed to get out of Azkaban undetected, especially with so many of his comrades still in there.

Voldemort must've caught the subtle exchange between them as well. No doubt, the Dark Lord could understand the motives behind Harry's sudden interest in one of his followers. After all, the Death Eater had inside information on the people who'd hoodwinked the young Potter heir with one of their own creations.

"Now Mr. Potter, this is a social event, not the battlefield. It'd be remiss of me not to introduce you to my friends," the Lord chided.

"Friends?" Harry chuckled, making his doubts crystal clear. "And I disagree on the idea that this little meeting isn't a battlefield." Licking his dry lips, Harry watched the Dark Lord's expression closely. "It's a different form of combat, wouldn't you agree? Disguised as a social call to get something out of me is just another fight."

Voldemort's smirk grew deadly. But Harry was just as riled up, going for the jugular. The man's presence made him more daring.  
It was an odd feeling, but he wanted to chase it with a vengeance. And he didn't know why.

"Exchanging false pleasantries to gain something isn't that different. It's all about winning. And it works, as we can see from all the 'friends' you surround yourself with."

Green eyes laughed at crimson and Harry bit his lip, enjoying this game far more than he could've imagined.

To his surprise, Voldemort didn't take offense at Harry's insult. In fact, he seemed to take almost sadistic pleasure out of it. Too bad, none of his followers appreciated being reduced to mere figureheads.

"This was uncalled for, Potter" Yaxley said, interrupting the heavy silence after throwing a wary glance in Voldemort's direction.

"Was it? I mean..." Harry cocked his head to the side, flashing the politician a small smile. "You don't like me. I don't like you. I think we've established that fact already." The frown on Lucius's face spoke volumes.

"What Yaxley is trying to say is that tonight's meeting doesn't have to be unnecessarily difficult for you. You can imagine that most people here don't take kindly to the fact that you maimed one of our own the last time we met," Malfoy said, trying to be a voice of reason. "Yet you are attending, outnumbered and still hostile..."

A look from Voldemort and the man shut his mouth again. The smug expression on Harry's face died down.

The Dark Lord waved his arm in lazy fashion, calling someone to him.

Someone who was apparently right behind Harry.

That someone turned out to be heavy and scaly and it took all his willpower not to gasp in surprise.

A large, green snake coiled around Harry's ankles and slithered upward, reaching his shoulders eventually, which made several Death Eaters eye the pair warily. Next to him, Lucius was holding his cane as if his life depended on it, but he made no move to put more distance between himself and the boy.

Harry's eyes became hooded and he met the serpent's gaze. Its forked tongue almost touched his cheek.

" _He's nervous, Master,_ " the serpent hissed.

Outwardly, Harry didn't react, but the damn thing was too talkative. She looked positively gleeful, if snakes could even manage that. It didn't help that he could understand every word. He'd always been able to, which made him wonder. But that didn't mean he would reveal this particular ability in front of Voldemort, who was Slytherin's heir and the only living Parselmouth in existence, well until now. Though, the fact that they shared this oddity never stopped bothering Harry.

Voldemort's pale hand pushed a strand of dark hair out of his face, the move looking far more elegant than was normal.

" _Is he now_?"

Harry concentrated. It was difficult to discern Parseltongue from English, but the hissing-like quality of the Dark Lord's voice was incredibly prominent. The reaction of some of his followers confirmed that impression.

" _Yes. He's also angry. Can I eat him?_ " she asked.

Voldemort's face remained unfazed, his reaction as cold-blooded as was befitting his rank and title.

He should've expected that. Harry's blood chilled and he felt his increased heart rate after witnessing such a casual attitude towards his own possible death.

" _Not yet, Nagini. Not yet. I have plans for the boy_ ," Riddle whispered, his eyes fiercely locked with Harry's. Nagini let out a noise that sounded like disappointment.

Irritation spread through his body, but he'd be damned if he ever allowed himself to become another pawn in Voldemort's game. Or food for a deranged animal. Harry stifled his own feelings as best as he could, hoping that the bloody snake wouldn't pick up on them. She was already far too intelligent for her own good.

But he was out of luck tonight. The deadly serpent noticed something else. Something far worse.

" _Master, why does he smell of you? Is he a hatchling of yours_?" she asked again, curious. Her tongue made contact with Harry's chilled skin.

That's it.

He was so going to kill the Dark Lord's familiar.

Voldemort's eyebrows rose in surprise before he narrowed his eyes at him, inspecting the boy more closely, if that was even possible. Harry already felt like an animal at a zoo in front of the man.

" _Does he? How interesting._ " The hiss sounded intimate. " _And no, he's not. Though he looks similar to my younger self..._ " Voldemort trailed off, gaze heavy on Harry's features.

"As much as you seem to enjoy the sound of your own voice, can we get to the matter at hand?" Harry asked, interrupting their little talk about him.

His remark must've startled the rest. Rowle was already choking on his own sandwich. The poor idiot would probably die before the night was out. In all likelihood, most of them weren't used to see people interrupt their Lord in such a manner.

The Dark Lord's punishment came swift and he didn't even need to lift a finger to make Harry suffer. Nagini's body wrapped itself more tightly around him and this time he knew he was in trouble. His bones could easily be crushed under the force of her grip on him. No, scratch that. They would get crushed.

Fuck. It hurt.

Grasping his holly wand, which he barely managed to do, he focused on the first spell that didn't need any wand movement. Nagini squeezed harder and someone was already laughing, eagerly absorbing Harry's misfortune.

His own magic reacted instantly, protecting him as it always had. Strands of grey smoke closed in on her scaly form and the snake hissed in warning, her fangs already dripping with venom near his face.

Harry on the other hand met Voldemort's dark eyes, conveying with a look what he thought of the man's intimidation tactics. For the first time he saw true anger in the man's expression.

Good. He felt just as angry.

"That's enough, Nagini," the Dark Lord said, switching back to English. On instinct, the snake withdrew entirely, setting her poisonous sight on another potential prey. The dissatisfaction oozed out of Voldemort's pet, but Harry still held the man's gaze. He wouldn't bow down in front of him and he had no desire to go down without a fight, if it came down to it.

"You've tested my patience, Mr. Potter. It's not the first time you've overstepped your boundaries. And it won't be the last, but it seems you're in desperate need of lessons on manners and respect," Voldemort said, putting down his glass and casually setting his eyes on Harry's new wand. "Pity, you had filthy Muggles as your only role models in this respect. But it's understandable."

Dolohov chuckled and even Malfoy smirked at that, which made Harry feel somewhat inferior. Pocketing his wand, he deliberately put an end to Voldemort's observation.

"Thanks to you," he said coldly. His lack of reaction at the insult against the Dursleys made several people perk up. Including their Lord.

"Other than taking pity on my lack of manners, would you be so kind as to tell my why you invited me in the first place?" A slight pause. "My Lord?"

He infused his voice with all the loathing he really felt and the mockery didn't go unnoticed, despite putting on a mask of false politeness.

Voldemort let it slide, but the warning in his expression never changed. "Certainly, Potter."

Relaxing in his seat, the man crossed his legs; an action that was noted by his sycophants who threw their Lord admiring looks in return. It made the younger boy gag. To be honest, the display of subservience and lack of spine was pitiful. Coming from people who prided themselves on blood purity and their rich lifestyle, it became downright disturbing to watch people like Malfoy grovel. Such was the power of a charismatic man like Voldemort.

Harry took a deep breath, inhaling the pleasant air that was coated with all kinds of foreign scents from Malfoy's exotic garden. His chest still hurt and he briefly entertained the thought of killing Nagini. The bloody worm was curling against Voldemort's long legs in pleasure. She was as devious and arrogant as her master.

Above him, the night's sky took on a splendid appearance, with stars shining brightly, throwing a different kind of mood on this event. It didn't lessen his anger, though.

"I'd like to propose a ceasefire."

The blunt statement halted Harry's turbulent feelings at once. He didn't even bother to hide his disbelief.

"What?"

Dropping his startled gaze from the cruel spark that ignited the man's expression, Harry suddenly knew that whatever came next would probably throw all his plans into the wild. Riddle smirked.

"You heard me. I'm offering a temporary ceasefire and you'd do well to accept it, boy." From the reaction of several Death Eaters, that proposal must've been a secret. Nobody understood why their leader wouldn't simply dispose of a mere boy.

"My Lord?" Dolohov asked, confused.

Riddle hummed, holding up his hand, which halted all questions at once. With a twist of the man's hand, some of the black candles on the table ignited again, throwing Harry's expression into more light. Noticing the boy's bewildered look, the man began to explain, somewhat bored.

"I have no time to chase after a prophecy," Voldemort said, completely indifferent. "There are currently more important and certainly more powerful people on my list to dispose of. People that can ruin decades of planning just by existing."

Harry stiffened, but a casual glance in Dolohov's direction exposed something quite interesting. The wizard was giving the impression that he knew what Voldemort was talking about. And the way his sharp eyes lit up in understanding told another, hidden truth.

"Just for the record," Harry began, shifting so as not to make Dolohov suspicious. "You always seemed quite obsessed with the prophecy, from what Black told me. And besides, I ruined decades of your planning...just by existing."

Riddle snorted, dismissing the comment. Only a slight movement of his hands revealed some sort of emotion after hearing the traitor's name.

"You flatter yourself, child. And don't make the mistake to think you're safe." Voldemort tsked, mocking him further. "Your death is the inevitable outcome in this game. Fortunately for you, my enemies are easier to kill if you're walking around the streets, safe and sound." Thin lips parted to form a fleeting smile. "It's like dangling something they so desperately want right in front of them. And making them pay for it."

It clicked and Harry scowled at the man, already knowing that Voldemort's passive stance had everything to do with using him as bait.

He shook his head, giving the Dark Lord all the answers he needed.

Octavian scowled.

"Don't be ridiculous, Potter. You have nothing to bargain with and even if you did, it wouldn't change a single thing," Greengrass barked, putting down his wine glass to address him properly.

"Thank you. You made me see reason," Harry said sarcastically. The fool didn't even notice, chortling like a pig.

From Voldemort's impatient and dissatisfied expression, Harry already knew that it was time to put an end to this charade.

"Let me just make that clear," he began. "You want me to stay out of your business, using me to get your enemies out of hiding in order to start picking them off one by one. And after finishing that, you eventually decide to kill me?"

Voldemort's thoughtful expression was infuriating and in poor taste considering the offer, but the man proved once again why he was the one holding the title of the Dark Lord.

"A simple but accurate assumption." From the way his cronies began to laugh, they must've enjoyed Voldemort's attempt to cage him in.

Without further ado, Harry withdrew his wand, making Lucius's expression turn alarmed. But instead of attacking, Harry pulled out a simple box and flicked his wand to enlarge the item.

Vanishing the apples, he made more room for the box and opened the lid carefully.

The gasps all around him and the Dark Lord's growing magic told him that they were aware of the content inside. All wands but one were carefully lined up.

And someone was stupid enough to reach out and grab the closest one without hesitation.

Harry recognized Jugson's features, but the man's reaction came swiftly. An agonized scream was all the warning people got, as the man started to stumble backwards, eventually crashing to the ground. No more words came out and the only thing Harry could see from his position was the horrified look in the wizard's face. The man was currently facing invisible enemies.

Dozens of wands pointed at him and Riddle watched the man's pained form with indifference, probably more interested in the scientific effects than the fact his own follower would die soon if nobody helped him out.

Grasping the cursed wand, Harry ignored the obvious surprise around him when nothing happened, leaving him unaffected by the magic.

"Let's start by saying that this set was never created to aid your side, my Lord. Your followers should know that by now." A deep breath and then Harry launched into detail, knowing that this move could either settle the score or make him lose everything.

"I've had enough time and resources at my disposal to experiment on them, and the conclusion I came to is simple." Green eyes locked with curious crimson.

"The wands are linked to the Unbeatable Wand, the one you're actually after. But as long as the most powerful wand in existence aids another side, you can't use them. And as you can see, if people try to take them by force, the magic backfires." Harry smiled. "A wand chooses its wizard and those wands only obey the one their master currently approves of to some degree. Which makes me, someone who practices both light and dark magic, more than worthy enough to try my luck. The same can't be said for your bootlickers."

He threw a disdainful look in Jugson's direction.

"Gregorovitch was right. Someone must've hated you with a passion to turn those wands against you at all costs. And that someone also must've known about the location of the current, Unbeatable Wand in order to take such a risk. Pity she's dead," Harry said, enjoying Voldemort's closed off expression.

"But unlike you, I can use them, discovering more secrets along the way, which eventually will lead me to the most powerful item. And more. I don't think your army would like it, if I simply decided to hand the set over to your enemies."

Silence.

"So, if you hand over the one you stole from me, I might consider your offer. In turn, you'll have access to objects that could be used against you. Oh, and I'd appreciate it if you stopped trying to kill me."

Then...

The Dark Lord laughed, the sound making Harry feel slightly anxious, but he remained stubborn.

"You are a fool, Harry Potter. A fool who decided to show his hand, giving me the opportunity to retaliate." Voldemort tilted his head to the side and his eyes became hooded.

"What makes you think I won't plan to take them by force?"

Oh, the usual threats.

Too bad, Harry came prepared.

"You can, but then you'll lose more valuable time trying to get the one you've always wanted. You can do a lot of things, actually," Harry said, self-deprecation and humor entering his voice.

"You could rip out all my secrets by force, but I'd probably end up insane, which leaves you with nothing."

Voldemort considered the statement.

"The Imperius Curse would do the trick, Potter," he said, making Harry grin.

"Nope, I can resist it. And by the way, if you try Veritaserum, it won't work either. Biting off my tongue is just one option to silence me." The morbid description of Harry's own willingness to mutilate himself didn't go unnoticed by the Death Eaters. Malfoy grimaced visibly.

"So what will it be, my Lord? My cooperation and safety in exchange for the wands, which you can't control without my help. Doesn't sound like a bad deal, especially since you gain more out of it than I do," the Potter heir explained. It was true. Harry would definitely be at a slight disadvantage here.

"There's no evidence to your claims, Potter. And no guarantee to find the wand I've been looking for. You offer me nothing but promises."

"Promises?" Harry feigned surprise. And then he snapped the wand he was holding in two, making Dolohov flinch. The murmuring around him grew incensed. But it didn't take long for the strands of golden magic to entwine, putting the wand back together.

It was a phenomenon that shouldn't be possible. And everyone knew that. Pity they didn't know his own wand couldn't be snapped that easily. A tiny but significant fact in this dangerous game.

Nagini hissed as Voldemort began to stroke her head gently.

"There's something else you need to know. And I can imagine you'd be incredibly curious to see that gaining a wand's loyalty is more than simply getting more power," Harry said calmly, alluding to Voldemort's disregard for objects that possessed a conscience. They weren't tools and Riddle was an idiot to treat them like that.

"I'm speaking of your moniker and the fact that you'd probably like to know more about what it means to hold the title Master of Death," Harry breathed, putting his hopes on this last act. The Hallows were often regarded as a fairy tale, after all.

Shrinking the box, he watched the man's face for a reaction.

And there was one.

Voldemort's eyes dilated and Harry knew he'd finally caught the man's interest.

The silence between them changed the atmosphere around this place, but eventually Voldemort stood, making Nagini leave her comfortable place.

"Walk with me, Potter," is all he said, turning away and leaving a group of confused Death Eaters behind.

Harry's lips thinned, but he followed the man, not wanting to stay in their presence either. It dawned on him that the Dark Lord wanted to talk to him in private.

Both of them headed for the cherry trees near the marble fountain, putting more distance between them and the gossiping crowd and a dying Death Eater.

The night's sky above them shone with bright stars and the scent coming from the garden made Harry inhale the humid air deeply. Even the sound of water hitting the white surface of the fountain calmed his racing heart.

He felt tired.

* * *

Potter was a mystery he needed to solve before attempting to kill him. The realization came without warning. But he'd learned his lesson after that fateful night. And this time he couldn't allow himself to make more mistakes.

A single petal fell from one of the trees, and the boy's incredibly expressive eyes followed its movement, growing alarmed.

It didn't make sense. But then none of Potter's actions ever made much sense. The brat was already hunched forward, looking as if he was carrying the world on his shoulders. And normally that would've made him want to mock the boy for his foolish honesty, his weakness.

He didn't. He couldn't. Voldemort attributed his own growing fascination to his sudden interest in the similarities between them. Because there was no other boy who acted the way Potter did, reminding the Dark Lord of a long forgotten past, reminding him of a fractured soul and the wretched humanity that came with it.

"Tell me, Harry. Why are you jeopardizing your own wellbeing just to extend your lifespan?"

Potter didn't react outwardly, but his next words were chosen with deliberate emphasis.

"It's simple, actually. It makes a difference whether I play the victim or not, watching my back all the time instead of using all the options I have to fight back. If that turns me into a crippled teenager, it's still better than doing nothing and simply waiting for death."

And that was another thing the Dark Lord hated.

He hated himself for liking it.

Potter's maturity and wisdom reminded him of his own determination to succeed. On top of that, the boy's magic acted up, cloaking the small body in a possessive embrace that felt incredibly familiar.

It was true, though. The boy didn't know it yet, but Voldemort had no intention of killing him if there was still so much left to discover. The reminder that this was the one person who had been made his equal all those years ago just added to it. There was also the Mudblood's sacrifice to consider and Potter's surprising affinity for Dark Magic, Voldemort's own domain.

The Dark Lord stepped closer, enjoying the boy's defiance.

"So it's mere pride that makes you want to strike a deal like that?" he asked, watching the boy intently.

Harry shrugged, mimicking the taller man's actions and stepping closer without noticing it.

"That and I don't know, to live maybe? Make an impact on this world. You must feel the same, what with all the immortality stuff you brag about." A wry smile distorted his youthful features. But Voldemort decided to play along.

"And by attaining immortality I also made it impossible for my enemies to defeat me, Potter. Which means you have no hope of winning, even if I give you another decade to train your magic," he warned.

It was a lie, though.

Potter had the potential to turn into a formidable Lord, if he applied himself. And unlike Dumbledore, Grindelwald and even himself, the brat had already managed to get a dedicated following shortly after his birth. His legend, the miracle of the Boy-Who-Lived reached even the other side of the globe, something no other Lord had ever achieved.

If left unchecked, Potter could be a fierce and deadly opponent.

That's why it was so vital to regain control and make the boy fall under the same spell that all other people fell prey to. But then, Voldemort always enjoyed a challenge. And Potter would be a good one; his to play with, the legend turned foe against the light. Or dead, if too bothersome to deal with.

"If I'm so pathetic and weak, then I wonder why you even bother?" Potter asked, carding his fingers through messy, black hair. Of course, Voldemort couldn't admit to his growing fascination, but then the boy must've already known that he was more than another wizard to dispose of. The fact he was still alive was evidence enough.

Voldemort suddenly felt an incredible urge to touch the boy, to feel that magic again, and because he never denied himself, that is what he did.

A hand came in contact with the boy's warm neck and Potter accidentally touched Riddle's wrist, after messing up his own hair.

The touch startled the younger wizard and Potter's expression turned flustered, even pained. Immediately, the boy put some distance between them, realizing that he'd unintentionally stepped into Voldemort's personal space.

Voldemort smiled.

"I can't accept the oath. There will be others who will try to kill you on my behalf."

Potter however simply nodded. "That's fine. All I want is my wand and your oath that you will never deliberately let the association kill me, if I play your bait. Or attempt to kill me right after."

The demands made him reconsider Potter's dubious motives, but he agreed. He could indulge the brat and settle on a timeline.

"Letting you die before they're dealt with would defeat the purpose." With that, he pulled out the useless wand he'd stolen from the brat. Harry grasped the offered handle, showing his surprise.

The wand never harmed him, unlike Jugson's encounter with the set. But it felt as dead and devoid of magic as any other piece of wood.

"You're paying a heavy price, Potter."

The teenager smiled and lowered his head. "You have your own problems. Your lack of followers and fight against your own kind just one of them. But that doesn't stop you either, does it?"

Right, Potter needed to be dealt with.

"I'd offer you to join me. That would probably make your life so much easier," the Dark Lord drawled, but the boy's stance never changed.

"Pity, I'm not one to take the easy way out."

No, the kid truly wasn't. But that didn't mean the need to control and ensnare the boy to his side wasn't tempting. A youthful mind such as his was still malleable, after all. And winning this game between them sounded extremely appealing, especially if it meant he could defeat people like Dumbledore and so many others once and for all.

"Besides," Harry continued. "Having you fight against people who want to use me in one of their sick experiments is simply too convenient."

"Which makes your attempts to hold onto your weak morality even more pointless, child. But do carry on. Delude yourself into thinking you and I have nothing in common."

Green eyes widened and Voldemort chuckled, already knowing that an attack on Potter's integrity was all it took to bring out the self-loathing and growing insecurity.

Turning around, Riddle decided to head back to the manor, leaving a darkly amused Harry Potter behind as soon as the man's back was turned.

Right now, Hedwig was arriving at Rita Skeeter's place, carrying a meaningful letter. It was just the start of another kind of battle.

As for the Deathly Hallows...

Harry had no intention of letting Voldemort of all people become the Master of Death.


	20. Peverell's Legacy

The party was slowly winding down, which was a relief. Most high-ranking guests mingled in groups, casting suspicious looks his way every time they passed him on their way out. Others pretended to ignore him, sometimes successfully. Harry didn't really care, though. The only thing he knew for a fact was that Voldemort must've warned his Death Eaters away from him. Territorial bastard that he was.

But it didn't matter. There were more important things to focus on. Things that demanded his full attention.

Standing near the table tops at the far end of the ballroom, close to the exit, Harry was currently debating whether he should steal Malfoy's Crêpe Suzette plate or not.

It looked absolutely delicious.

He'd never seen such delicacies in his life, not even at Durmstrang.

Everything would probably end up in the trash, since pure-bloods were too dignified to appreciate what they had in the first place. And unlike them, he wasn't one to waste food. The Treacle Sponge pudding with its sprinkling golden syrup was virtually screaming at Harry to take it away from this dreadful place.

And so he succumbed to his demanding stomach. Throwing a sideways glance, Harry positioned his body with his back to the crowd. Shrinking the plate with a wave of his holly wand, he quickly transfigured a fork into a plastic box. Technically, he was stealing things, but the Malfoys would hardly notice missing plates or cutlery, loaded as they were.

Another flick of his wand, and the food was where it belonged. With him.

Harry smiled in satisfaction.

And his tired body thanked him for it. The increased appetite was probably a direct result from the amount of excessive magic he'd performed over the last days under Augusta's tutelage. Nothing to worry about, of course. It was worth the effort, and the learning effect on wandlore was simply another bonus. The experiments on the set of wands had been taxing, yes. But all discoveries they yielded made the attempt to get his wand back that much more crucial.

And he succeeded, albeit under pressure and not without losing something in return.

Harry had no intention of telling Voldemort the whole truth, though. And why would he? The Dark Lord was probably conceited enough to pretend he didn't need Harry's resources and information to get the Elder Wand. It suited the younger wizard just fine.

Picking up another plate and noticing its reflection, Harry sighed.

"Enjoying the party?" Draco Malfoy called. The brat had the nerve to approach him again.

Harry resisted the urge to scowl. It was already difficult enough trying to hide the pain still lingering in his bones after Nagini's attack. He couldn't afford obvious weaknesses. Not in this particular place.

"Yes, Malfoy." Harry picked up a strawberry, eyeing it curiously. "Your charity ball for orphans is fun, though I suppose it's less charity and more ball," he said. The strawberry cake would look nice in the dining room at Potter manor...

Malfoy snorted, crossing his arms.

"Stating the obvious. It seems you're more bothered by this than anyone else here."

"You aren't?" he asked. Raising his head, he glanced at the boy. Draco was the spitting image of his father, minus the permanent sneer that seemed to decorate his pale features.

"Of course not. The Dark Lord wants his allies, so he's getting them. I see no problem here."

"Really?" Harry asked.

Unfortunately, Draco's fake bravery belied his words. Harry shrugged in response.

"Too bad. I was hoping people would actually start to care about dark wizarding orphans, poverty, family interbreeding and the like. It's a real problem, Malfoy. But it seems your Lord wants to wage a war without fixing anything."

His words spilled out of him without warning and suddenly Harry couldn't stop the self-loathing he felt at his own honesty. So much about trying to control himself. Caring too much always caused problems; especially when you were surrounded by people who really didn't give a flying fuck about their own kind.

Pressing his fingers against his forehead, Harry took a deep breath, all the while ignoring Malfoy's anger at the casual insult against his Lord.

Malfoy didn't seem to get it. That was fairly obvious.

Harry couldn't blame the boy for his own ignorance, though. Not under these circumstances.

It was quite clear that Draco had been sheltered and protected from the harsh realities of the outside world. And his next statement just proved it.

"You're an idiot. Once we crush the light side and eradicate the Muggle trash, we can rebuild our society the way it should be," Draco said darkly. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

Harry gave a small laugh.

"You actually believe that?" Smirking, he traced the boy's features with another look, seeing genuine confusion and anger. "Oh my, Voldemort must've really pulled the wool over your eyes, Malfoy. Or maybe your father likes to tell himself those things every single time he grovels at the man's feet."

"Don't say his name," Malfoy hissed and those words just made Harry laugh harder.

Their conversation was already drawing too many pairs of eyes on them.

"He'll never learn, unless he gets punished for his disrespect," someone said, throwing his arms over Harry's shoulders.

Harry stiffened. Fuck, he hated it when people approached him from behind without warning.

"Filipp," he said without emotion. The taller boy grinned, leaning closer.

"Harry Potter. It's been so long," he drawled. His breath stank of too much Butterbeer and Harry resisted the urge to push him away. "I've missed you, Harry. How come you never write back?" Dolohov laughed, the sound as irritating as the rest of him.

"You know each other?" Draco suddenly asked, raising his eyebrows and inspecting Filipp's drunken form.

Dolohov just leaned closer.

"Oh, we've known each other for roughly two years now. Quite intimately, if I may say so," Filipp said.

"He's just an acquaintance," Harry threw in when Draco's expression grew perplexed. Really, he sometimes cursed the fact that they couldn't reveal too many secrets about their school to outsiders. Filipp was the type of person who'd suggest the most outrageous things just to get a rise out of Harry. Sometimes Harry regretted ever having attempted to apologize to the taller boy for the wand accident.

"More like bedpartner," Dolohov drawled, chuckling a bit.

Right, asshole.

Noticing Harry's expression, Filipp patted his shoulder. "Oi, Potter. Don't be like that. I've always been so nice to you." Harry pushed him away at last, grimacing when the boys stumbled a bit. The Butterbeer stench probably masked all the hard alcohol Filipp must've consumed beforehand.

"Did you like my gift?"

Harry frowned at him, sensing a sudden shift in his tone.

"I didn't get the chance to take a look, but I'll let you know if it's good. Though... I think I'd get more answers out of your father than a book," Harry said pointedly.

Filipp shrugged, but his eyes grew hard. "It'll help. I warned you about certain stuff, after all."

Ignoring Draco's confusion, he turned fully around, facing Dolohov. The patronizing tone and fake concern coming from a Death Eater's son irritated him to no end.

He lowered his gaze. "Well sorry for not listening to your lies." He inspected his nails, wondering how much he could reveal in Draco's presence. But for all he knew, the two were best mates.

"I met your father while fighting those white-clad bastards. Finding out that he's been involved in that crap the entire time isn't exactly what I came to expect." Harry gave a humorless laugh. "But then, I should've known the Dark Lord would have spies stationed everywhere."

"I couldn't tell you the truth and you know it," Filipp insisted, his drunken state seemingly forgotten.

"But you shouldn't have lied either. In fact, you should stay out of this mess, if you know what's good for you. I don't even know why you give a damn about me in the first place," Harry said, closing his eyes briefly.

Filipp inhaled sharply, and that made Harry look up again. Both of them stared at one another, before Filipp dropped his gaze in defeat. "The others are right. Maybe it's because I believe that you have the potential to change things. And that's why you shouldn't get yourself killed."

Harry stepped back, almost bumping into Malfoy, who automatically reached forward, as if to steady him.

"Potential? I won't fight for the Dark if it's what you want. I already told everyone that I wouldn't get involved."

"You already  _are_  involved, Potter," Draco whispered, oddly serious. "You're as dark as one can get. Don't pretend you don't care about the Dark if you are passionately defending dark wizarding orphans, which you did two minutes ago."

Malfoy had a point and Harry blinked.

He was tired of all the talks about potential, but it was true that he couldn't stay out of the Dark's business if he wanted to ensure his own safety. And it was also true that he was starting to feel deeply concerned with the way so many countries deliberately drew a chasm between light and dark without any concern for the future. The wizarding world was his world now. And he'd already all but threatened that he would step in, should things escalate on all fronts.

But still. The lies, the expectations and webs of manipulations surrounding him just grew more bothersome and Harry lacked the power to change it. Perhaps not in the political field. But magically? He couldn't hold his own against a Dark Lord. Voldemort had been right about that.

"Training children of dark wizarding families, that's as involved as you can get." Filipp grinned.

Harry's eyes widened.

"How do you-?"

The boy laughed again. "Oh please. Your crowd is anything but inconspicuous. I mean, Krum likes to pretend he's all innocent, no depth at all, but I know you two have been conspiring against the Headmaster. And what about Robards? She didn't leave your side for a minute."

In all actuality, Harry had never intended to start an all out rebellion against the impostor, but Filipp seemed to believe he'd already created some sort of secret underground society.

Draco smirked, glancing at Harry in amusement. "What did he do?"

Batting his eyelashes, Dolohov affected innocence, but his own smirk grew sharp and Harry tensed.

"Let's just say he wasn't sitting around when some people decided to get eh - a bit out of control," Dolohov said carefully, alluding to the Headmaster's past actions. "In any case, Potter. Admit it." Spreading his arms, Filipp drew himself up. "You've learned quite a lot of things under his tutelage. We all did. So don't use the moral card on me."

"I'm out of here," Harry said, looking past the boy's shoulders and meeting Lucius Malfoy's impatient gaze.

"Hey, Potter. Wait a minute-," Filipp called, but Harry flipped him off, making his way over to Yaxley and Malfoy, who were already waiting for him. Filipp's talkative attitude would fuel the gossip and make people think Harry would attempt to start a revolution. Damn him.

Drawing up his shoulders, Harry swept down the ballroom, past the countless eyes on him. Nodding at the two Death Eaters in greeting, he kept silent as they led him away from the masses, heading for Malfoy's office, which was currently occupied by a certain Dark Lord.

The silence in this part of the manor felt eerie and it didn't work in his favor when several Malfoy ancestors stared at him from their portraits as if he was some sort of pig ready to get slaughtered. Pushing past his own confusion and anxiety, Harry glanced at Yaxley.

"Feeling better?"

The politician grew confused. "Excuse me?

Even Malfoy threw another curious look his way, as they calmly led the way past an enormous staircase, entering another empty corridor.

"Well. That must've really hurt. You fell unconscious, after all," Harry said, licking his lips. The memory of Minister Farnes stepping over Yaxley almost felt symbolic to Harry.

Cold air seeped under several doors leading to opulent chambers. Even the dark corners were spotless of spider webs or any dirt for that matter. Yet, the chill had nothing to do with the manor and everything to do with the foreign magic tracing his own steps, lingering and testing him. Voldemort was close. Even his two companions were tense.

"I know that bitch of a Minister is protecting you, Potter. But don't worry. She'll be dealt with soon enough," Yaxley threatened, balling his fists in anger. It was an empty threat for now and everyone present knew it.

Her protection had been increased after the attack on the ministry. Not even Voldemort could threaten her life from a distance.

Speaking of Voldemort...

"My Lord. Potter is with us," Lucius called stiffly, not entering his own office.

"Let him in."

Harry narrowed his eyes, hating how agitated he felt.

* * *

"Your followers are so nice. Didn't think you'd surround yourself with so many friendly faces."

The Dark Lord remained indifferent, not even bothering to look at him across from the table where he sat. Harry pushed past the two Death Eaters and closed the door in their face, leaving him alone with Voldemort. Nothing was said to that, which meant that his conversation was probably intended to be held in private. He wouldn't have it any other way.

Harry's boots touched ancient, polished floorboards and the scent of tomes and old parchment wafted across the office. It was already past midnight, but Harry noticed that a plate of sandwiches had been prepared for him.

"Are you implying something, Potter?" Voldemort asked curtly, gaze fixed on the book he was reading.

Harry took a seat, carefully looking around the office. "Nope. Just enjoying the company." He frowned in confusion.

"Do you want me to make a mess out of Lucius' workplace or is that concern for my wellbeing I'm detecting here?"

Pale lips twitched. "Whatever you want to believe, child. Now eat."

Voldemort continued to read in silence, leaving Harry to his own thoughts. He didn't think the man would poison him, but one could never be sure what his twisted mind concocted in secret. Voldemort  _would_  probably poison him, just for entertainment.

Harry sighed.

Eating in Voldemort's presence was unnerving when you didn't do it just to get a reaction out of his followers. Harry was uncomfortably aware of the plastic box he'd conjured to take with him.

Suddenly, he felt incredibly childish.

He took a bite and almost moaned at the rich flavor that invaded his senses. Seriously, Malfoy Manor's cuisine was a thousand times better than the stuff he got at Durmstrang or even back home.

Looking past the rim of his glasses, he suddenly caught the Dark Lord's eyes, which were now intently fixed on him.

Harry chewed on the bread, feeling awkward all of a sudden. The gulping noise he couldn't stifle was simply too loud in this room.

"What?" he asked tentatively.

Behind the Dark Lord's chair, the lit fireplace illuminated the man's impressive and regal form and Harry couldn't look away. Shadows almost danced across the room, throwing his profile into a strong contrast. It made Harry feel smaller.

"You have-," the man pointed at the corners of his own mouth, "sauce-"

Mortified, Harry immediately grabbed the napkin, wiping it off, and Voldemort's eyes tracked his movements, amusement evident in his expression.

"Do you always like to humiliate your guests like that?" Harry asked, looking across the table at the smirking, insufferable man. "It's not very dark-lordish, in my opinion."

"Most of my guests seem to possess proper table manners, Harry," Voldemort chided lightly. "It's a first one, even for me."

Harry glanced down, pushing the food away from him. "I'm honored, truly," he drawled. "In any case, I didn't come here for a chat. Do you have the contract?" His eyes hardened and he looked up, noticing that Voldemort was still surveying him closely. The Dark Lord clicked his tongue, and with a casual movement the plate vanished. Harry almost felt jealous at the effortless and graceful way in which the older man could use wandless magic.

Wordlessly, the Dark Lord slid a piece of parchment across the table and Harry reached out for it, hoping that this wasn't a trap. He'd get out of here alive and with all his demands met. Or they would fight.

The contract didn't contain any loopholes from what he could see. And it even detailed explicitly how much time Harry had left until immunity for him expired. All of his friends were excluded, which was something he'd expected. To his relief, Harry's involvement in the war wasn't restricted, because he'd need to get out there to lure Voldemort's enemies out of hiding. Which was just perfect and exactly what Harry had counted on. His own dealings in the future would be left untouched, as long as he met with Voldemort in public from time to time, which was the only clause the Dark Lord had put in there.

Harry had an inkling of the reasons behind it. It would be a strong, political statement to have Harry Potter frequent the Dark Lord's circles. And the attempt to chain him to a specific side in this war couldn't be any more obvious. Still, he doubted Voldemort's enemies would come out of hiding that easily. But that wasn't his concern.

In return, he got his wand back and his safety from Voldemort and his Inner Circle was guaranteed for a couple of years. Enough time for Harry to start doing his own things without having spies at Durmstrang or anywhere else threaten him all the time.

Harry eyed the Dark Lord shrewdly. "Hm, your Legalese is outdated, my Lord. But immunity until I'm of age, I suppose that's okay."

His casual reaction to the contract made Voldemort narrow his eyes. Was there something he didn't like?

"I know you're already bound by an oath to spare Narcissa and her spawn during the war. Lucius is quite unimaginative, I'm afraid," the Dark Lord began. "Now you're chaining yourself to me in return for a short life and nothing more than a single wand." The hidden warning and suspicion made Harry stiffen in wariness. "In return I get the fascinating story of the so called Unbeatable Wand and your cooperation in my...plans."

"I wonder," the Dark Lord trailed off.

The threat was out in the open.

"Aren't you lucky? Getting so many things out of this deal," Harry quipped. "I guess I'm just a very nice, forgiving person." He smiled, all the while cursing Voldemort in his mind. Of course, the bastard would take notice of his wand.

On top of that, he hadn't known that Malfoy's dealings had been so obvious to his Lord, but apparently he'd underestimated how perceptive the Dark Lord could be.

Nonetheless, he picked up the quill that was already prepared for him and swiftly signed the contract, not even batting an eyelash at the glowing energy that settled the deal between them.

"It's not the Unbeatable Wand, if you're curious. It's my own and it was given to me by them."

The Dark Lord made an interested noise, but didn't comment.

Harry continued, gazing at the man. "It isn't more special or more powerful than the rest. It's simply mine and I wanted it back." He paused and assessed Voldemort closely. "It's true that it might lead me to the location of the Elder Wand, but just like the rest of the set, it's been choosing the wizard who could wield it. Taking a wild guess, I think that those wands in your possession were also destined for others."

The Dark Lord hummed.

"So you're simply holding onto it in order to seek the most powerful wand in existence. A loophole for you."

Harry rolled his eyes at that. "No, I'm holding onto it to defend myself against people like you. I don't need an unbeatable, almighty wand," he replied. It was arrogant of him to say that. They both knew it wouldn't take much to kill him, prophecies or not.

Tapping his fingers against the cover of the book, Voldemort smiled.

"You have five years left to surprise me. I won't have history books recording the defeat of a mere teenager at my hands."

Harry nodded, smirking. "That would be embarrassing, since they already recorded your defeat at the hands of an infant."

The sudden flash of anger in Voldemort's eyes was worth it, Harry thought viciously.

Leaning back in his seat, he lowered his gaze, contemplating how to best tell him the truth without telling him everything.

"You wanted to know more about the Elder Wand and why the wands in your possession are linked to it," he began, dismissing Voldemort's dark, menacing aura. Harry locked eyes with the man to convey his honesty. He wouldn't put it past him to use the mind arts on Harry without warning and that was something Harry didn't need to experience now.

"I already told you that those wands are linked to the so called Unbeatable Wand."

Voldemort didn't look impressed. In fact, he looked almost bored now. "And how exactly did you find that out?"

"By researching the properties and cross-referencing all I know about its Master from what others have told me." Harry narrowed his eyes at the man. "The Unbeatable Wand is also called the Elder Wand and its power had been supposedly created by Death himself. There's no other wand in existence that can repair wands, even from a distance."

Harry knew that he had Voldemort's full attention, so he continued. Predictably, all you needed to mention was Death and the man would come running.

"Ever read  _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_?"

"A children's tale." But Voldemort's eyes flashed in recognition and understanding. He looked pensive, watching Harry intently.

Harry inclined his head, leaning forward again and placing his hands on the table. "And it's real. According to several sources the three brothers, Antioch, Cadmus and Ignotus Peverell came in contact with Death three centuries after the Founders' Period." He chuckled a bit, remembering something from one of the books he'd read. "Oh and by the way, we're actually distantly related to them."

For the first time he saw genuine bewilderment in Voldemort's eyes. "Excuse me?"

Harry was a bit startled himself, noticing that emotions like surprise made the older man look much more human, not as stiff as he always liked to pretend he was.

"Go over the records or request a genealogy test. Cadmus is one of your ancestors while Ignotus is mine. That makes us distant relatives," Harry explained, enjoying the way Voldemort almost grimaced at the idea. He himself had felt extremely uncomfortable about that, realizing that Voldemort was in some sort of twisted way part of his family. He didn't like to dwell on that notion.

"Anyway, they possessed three legendary objects that -once reunited- could make you the-"

"Master of Death. An invisibility cloak, the resurrection stone and the Elder Wand," Voldemort finished for him, sounding slightly intrigued. Harry knew the man would love to obtain these objects simply because they proved to be real and they were shiny and powerful toys. It was a daring move for him to tell the Dark Lord about it.

"Now, I don't know much about the resurrection stone and if it still exists, but the Elder wand has a brutal history of being passed down by deceit and murder. I think it's feasible to say that you have to kill your opponent in order to obtain it," Harry explained. And it was the truth, but not the full one. He'd be damned if he told him that you could also master its powers by simply 'defeating' your opponent. Let Voldemort chase after it, but murdering a man didn't make you a master. And Harry would step in, if it came down to getting its loyalty.

"Fascinating," Voldemort said, but his eyes were hard and Harry grew instantly suspicious.

"I believe the location of the Elder Wand was knowledge that got lost with Yassine's murder. She created the copies, after all. And knew how they needed to work for them to become useless in your hands."

The Dark Lord clearly looked dissatisfied. Harry didn't know how to react to Voldemort's ongoing silence, so he simply continued. "There's a chance you might find it, though. All you need to do is find Gregorovitch. He was the one boasting about having made copies of it successfully, which made other people curious. His foolish mistake cost him greatly, since it was stolen many years ago. It's all a matter of tracing it back to that date and starting from there," he said, lowering his gaze again.

"Clever. You're giving up that kind of information to make others do all the work. Getting rid of the wandmaker would suit your purposes, after all," Voldemort suddenly mused. "How convenient."

Harry grinned, despite feeling completely unnerved. "What can I say? You're more skilled and resourceful than I am. I'm sure you can solve the problem."

"And yet you've somehow managed to come to your own conclusions with the dubious resources you have at hand. It makes our future alliance quite interesting, don't you think?" Voldemort crooned. There was an undertone of malice and disbelief in his voice.

It was difficult trying to navigate past the Dark Lord's obsession with his enemies. Of course, the man would be able to see beyond his interesting tales and accurately deduct the motives behind Harry's willingness to cooperate for now. It was just another reason why he never liked to pretend or use masks in the man's presence. All it did was creating more suspicion.

"Yes, very interesting," Harry replied darkly and Voldemort chuckled, evidently enjoying his frustration.

This was  _no alliance_  and he'd make sure the man would feel the consequences of his daring assumptions soon enough.

* * *

The Ministry of Magic in Oslo looked packed, with politicians blocking all exits, Aurors patrolling the corridors and foreigners lurking everywhere, people who simply wanted to take a look at the famous Harry Potter.

He'd managed to leave the party without a scratch on him last week, but Voldemort's underlying warnings still echoed inside his mind, making him feel caged in, threatened even if he was not in the man's overwhelming presence.

Harry desperately wanted to get a grip on his emotions, but it was proving to be difficult with all the eyes that were constantly fixed on him. Even worse, today he needed to participate at another ICEWR conference with a sharp mind, if he didn't want people like Fudge to mess everything up. Durmstrang and several smaller institutions were about to be purged, leaving no Death Eaters or Voldemort sympathizers behind, which would inevitably turn the school into a breeding ground for more moderate dark witches and wizards, or even light ones; a fact that made people like Dumbledore attend today's meeting.

"You look exhausted," Farnes murmured, standing behind him. They were waiting for the last attendees. Harry shifted on his feet, watching Pius Thicknesse converse with Fudge near the front row. Both of them looked nervous.

"You don't say." Harry smirked and Farnes touched his shoulder, attempting to offer support. In the back, Dumbledore was already eyeing them curiously, which she didn't like at all, from what Harry noticed. Her hand gripped him so tightly, it almost hurt.

Farnes acted ostensibly calm, but both of them knew that several plans were at stake here.

"It isn't over, you know. You'll have to participate in your first training session later," Marit warned. "I won't have you falling asleep on your first day."

Speak of the devil, Harry thought. An Auror made his way over to them, winking at him. Swiftly the young man bent down low, whispering in Harry's ear without shame as soon as he came close enough. "I'm looking forward to our duel, Potter." His accent was thick and the low voice pleasant, making Harry uncomfortably aware of the man's proximity.

"Get moving, Rendahl," Farnes snarled, visibly agitated. Several people turned around at that, no doubt wondering what this was about. Harry grimaced at the obvious display. Thankfully, the Auror just held his hands up and continued on his way, whistling without a care.

"Perfect, Minister. Just more attention is all we need," Harry drawled and Farnes straightened her back, looking sour. Her eyes however were serious.

"That one is trouble. I would've sacked him ages ago if he wasn't so damn efficient," she said, glancing at the tall Auror who joined his colleagues at the far end of the hall.

Finally, the doors were being closed and people lowered their voices.

Harry felt restless. He knew something would go wrong...


	21. Training The Strong

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen." Minister Farnes smiled, raising her hand to call attention to herself. Looking up, Harry caught Dumbledore's eye. The old man took a seat right across from Minister Fudge. It was odd, but not surprising to see Fudge and Dumbledore set so far apart, Harry thought. They'd never present a united front against the Dark, despite sharing similar ideals.

Harry nodded in greeting, but otherwise remained silent. His gaze swept past the congregated masses, briefly landing on a furious Pius Thicknesse and the somewhat more impassive gaze of Yaxley who was sitting right next to the frail man, watching Harry just as intently.

The Death Eater was still parading around as politician, which meant that Fudge had no idea about the man's loyalties. Dumbledore however did. Harry wondered if maybe he could oust those two in some way.

Tapping his quill against the notebook, he focused on the meeting.

"We've gathered here today in order to discuss the future of several private schools as well as Durmstrang Institute in light of the threat we're facing against the Dark Lord," Farnes began. Her grave voice carried over to the last rows and people fell silent.

Harry noticed the sneers that were being directed at her. No doubt, they probably hated that she always addressed Voldemort so respectfully. And some would never be able to distinguish between moderate dark wizards and Death Eaters. To them, everyone was conspiring against the light side and Muggles.

"With the latest attacks on several government buildings across Europe, we're dealing with a threat that poses a serious danger to our political stability. To go as far as to infiltrate educational institutions, it seems that the Dark Lord won't stop at borders to get what he wants."

"And what do you think he wants, Minister Farnes?" Gladow asked mockingly, relaxing in his high back chair. "There's also the issue of Mr. Potter's involvement in the attack and infiltration of London's Ministry. Nothing has been said about that. Rumors also indicate the boy has ties to the very man you're so afraid of."

Murmurs broke out and people threw pointed looks at Harry, which unnerved him slightly. But he couldn't back down or appear guilty in some way. Still, for Gladow to make such a remark... The man had a history of suffering under the Dark, which he ruthlessly used against Farnes, playing on the light's sympathies as a result. And in secret he was cozying up to the Death Eaters. A hypocrite with motives of his own, Harry thought.

"If we want to go by rumors, then almost everyone in this room has ties to the Dark Lord or his army, most notably you," Harry said. "One could even say Chief Warlock Dumbledore has at some point known the Dark Lord personally."

Gladow sneered and was about to launch another attack, but the outrageous voices of several politicians drowned him out. It was only Dumbledore's reaction that seemed to shut people up. As Harry predicted.

"Indeed, my boy." The headmaster smiled at him, before his expression turned serious. "As for Voldemort's past and his aims for the wizarding world, we can predict several outcomes," the old man explained, stroking his beard, completely ignoring the fearful expression of those around him. "Forgive my forwardness in this matter, but I believe I'm intimately familiar with his ideology. The extermination of Muggles for example has always been his priority. One we need to look out for."

Yaxley's disgust was pretty clear and Harry observed the others carefully, noting that not many held favorable opinions of Muggles. A sideways glance revealed a somewhat disgruntled Minister Farnes.

"The Dark Lord wouldn't prioritize Muggles over completely control of the entire Wizarding World," she warned. "His agenda diverted from the first war, as some of you might have noticed. The way I see it, he's undermining our stability first and refusing to make a public spectacle out of Muggle hunting for now. Or do you see any Giants and Werewolves destroying our towns?"

"He won't stop once he got his way. First us and then the Muggle world," Fudge said, sounding fearful. Several people nodded in agreement.

Harry frowned. Most of them seemed to regard Voldemort in a very black-white sort of way, refusing to look beyond the superficial image of a tyrant. But it wasn't as simple as wanting world domination. Not after witnessing the man's terribly ruthless yet intelligent reasoning behind his every move.

"It's strategic," he said and people around him fell silent. Across the room, the annoying Auror was already giving him his undivided attention.

Giving public speeches like that was an issue he would've avoided entirely, if it wasn't so damn useful.

"The Dark Lord is toying with you, using small groups to stage attacks on suppliers like Gregorovitch or engaging them in battles with your Aurors. But he's just wearing you down, trying to keep the public on high alert. It's most likely that his true objective is something else entirely," said Harry calmly.

"And what would you know about that, boy?" Thicknesse threw in.

"Harry has a point," Dumbledore said suddenly, bringing attention to himself. It was a deliberate act and one that surprised Harry. So far, the headmaster's unconditional support for him raised a few eyebrows, given the position both Dumbledore and Harry were in and the shaken trust the public had in the pristine Boy-Who-Lived image.

"Voldemort will always seek ways to enhance his power, be it through external means or by using other men. The fact that he attacked Mykew Gregrorovitch and sought out a prophecy for himself indicates that he's prepared for direct battle at some point. And for that he needs-"

"A weapon," Harry interrupted. Now he knew that Dumbledore had extensive knowledge about Voldemort's motives. In fact, Dumbledore's uncharacteristically grave expression indicated that he knew something Harry didn't.

Interesting.

"Indeed," Dumbledore said, looking at Harry past his half moon glasses. His agreement turned the mood sour and people looked worried for the first time. Even the undercover Death Eaters in attendance didn't appreciate Dumbledore's simple yet accurate deduction.

"Then what are we waiting for?" another politician exclaimed. "We should attack him while he's still battling without one."

"How?" one of the German representatives asked derisively. "He already gained allies and has several hideouts that are difficult to track down. Besides, Norway lost an entire Auror squadron recently. You-Know-Who can't be beaten even with several highly skilled people fighting against him. Only Albus Dumbledore can do it. Or Potter, if the boy's mysterious powers are to be believed."

Harry snorted. Mysterious powers, huh?

"Something to say, Potter?" the man asked suddenly.

Harry just eyed him in veiled disdain."I already told you that I wouldn't interfere unless he directly came after me, which might not even happen in the immediate future."

It wouldn't, given the contract he signed, but no one needed to know that. "I already did my part with Durmstrang's Death Eater problem," he said. From somewhere to the right a witch muttered something that sounded suspiciously like 'coward'.

Farnes turned toward him and smiled briefly, before addressing the crowd. "He did. In fact, we've managed to purge the school with Minister Fudge's help. Several Death Eaters have been taken into custody as a result."

"Custody?" Pius asked, sounding interested. Yaxley on the other hand barely refrained from rolling his eyes at that. And the man was right. It was simply too obvious.

People like Thicknesse would naturally like to get the details on their comrades' imprisonment.

"You've heard me and that is all I'm willing to disclose on the matter," she said and Harry smirked.

"In the end, the school has been taken care of and my country ensured that no associates of the Dark Lord would ever manage to get positions of power, especially around children who can be molded to the man's twisted cause. I hope that our partners in France and the UK can manage the same." Farnes glanced in Dumbledore's direction and the headmaster picked up on it.

"Hogwarts will remain safe for everyone who wishes to seek protection," Dumbledore said. "We also have students walking our halls who have family in support of Voldemort's cause. But we also believe children need a safe place in our world, regardless of any ideologies their parents hold."

"Yes, without a doubt. Your school is a bastion for all that is right and holy in this world. Let's just forget the Dark Arts practice that has been banned as soon as you became Headmaster," Farnes said, shocking everyone in attendance. It was a very straightforward attack. Few people dared to call Albus Dumbledore out in public.

Harry's respect rose up a few notches as a result. But he'd also need to talk to her about that, in case she ever dared to criticize him for his boldness.

Dumbledore however remained calm and unimpressed, his faint amusement revealing a shockingly patronizing attitude for a man who prided himself on benevolence. His supporters however didn't take this comment lightly and shouts broke out.

Time to relax.

Harry was about to write something down, a simple observation of those in attendance, but a strange light coming from Fudge's direction caught his eye.

Cornelius looked completely out of place, refusing to participate in the shouting matches. He wasn't taking any initiative in this meeting, which didn't surprise Harry much. Fudge was no leader and lacked the backbone necessary to deal with Voldemort on his own.

The man was currently taking another sip from his glass, the water almost spilling all over his trembling hand. Harry narrowed his eyes at the contents. The light wasn't just an optical illusion, he thought, knowing that something was wrong.

The water looked...green?

His eyes widened in alarm and he wasn't the only one to notice. Dumbledore already left his seat, about to shout something. The sudden violent reaction from Fudge however beat him to it. The Minister started to cough and his eyes bulged out, looking obscenely frightened.

Harry reacted on instinct. Using his fast reflexes, he withdrew his Holly wand and shattered the glass with a spell, grimacing when pieces of it embedded themselves in the man's hand.

His reaction immediately brought more attention to the poisoned Minister. Because that's what must've been in the water. Pure poison.

Fudge stumbled back and his chair was pushed back, making even more noise. People began to scream, but Harry acted on autopilot. Jumping over the table, he ignored Farnes, as he quickly tried to make his way over to the Minister. Fudge was struggling to breathe and the screams intensified.

Luckily, his reaction was on time. A spell was already heading for the man, no doubt an Avada Kedavra that would finish the job. It missed them both by mere inches, as Harry threw himself to the ground, taking Fudge with him. More spells rushed over his head, this time from another corner of the room.

A frightened witch ducked under the table and Harry caught her look.

"Make sure he survives," he barked, knowing that she wasn't the attacker. His eyes were already on the figure that was backing away from them. The maddening look and his bright grin told Harry everything.

The unknown attacker spelled the door open and left, his shield disintegrating with the force of Dumbledore's spells.

Harry ran after him, quickly followed by Dumbledore and several Aurors who caught onto the situation.

"COME ON, LITTLE POTTER. LET'S PLAY," the person shouted and Harry threw a blood-boiling curse at him. He missed and the wizard turned around the corner, heading for the Ministry's main hall. He probably intended to use one of the fireplaces to escape. Fuck. Hopefully, Farnes would have the foresight to block them.

Another curse almost took his head off, but an Auror suddenly intercepted the spell, protecting Harry from the worst.

He recognized Auror Rendahl, but the young wizard focused on blocking another curse.

"Get him, Potter. I'll cover you," he said, his cheerful voice breaking Harry's concentration.

Dumbledore reached them as well and together they ran after the attacker. A powerful shield from the Headmaster blocked even more harmful spells, but they had another problem at hand.

Civilians were crowding the main hall and the unknown man quickly used the opportunity to lose himself in the masses of bodies. They couldn't attack without hurting innocent people.

Harry followed, losing both the Auror and Dumbledore in the process. His eyes scanned the people, frantically looking for the man whose features weren't noticeable. He was probably under a glamour.

Panic broke out and more shouts were heard. A mass panic was the last thing he needed, though.

"Lockdown," a voice from seemingly everywhere echoed off the walls. It was Minister Farnes and Harry sighed in relief. Maybe the wizard didn't manage to escape yet. No green flames erupted from the fireplaces, but the screams didn't stop.

Something was definitely wrong.

He pushed past another group of people and caught Dumbledore's concerned gaze. The man was also trying to pinpoint the location of the attacker, his eyes taking everything in with a sharp look.

Harry was about to turn around and head back to join the Aurors, but then something happened. Flickering lights rose slowly, attaching themselves to the high wall behind Dumbledore. Harry gasped.

The light was slowly forming letters, dancing above the heads of several shocked onlookers.

Harry's reaction must've alerted Dumbledore and the old man whirled around, taking in the spectacle.

The letters spelled out ominous words and he pushed forward, reaching Dumbledore's side to take a closer look.

Slowly they formed a phrase.

 _For the Greater Good_.

That was all it said and then the spell disappeared, leaving nothing but faint particles behind. Harry turned around, about to ask the headmaster what he thought, but his voice got stuck in his throat when he saw Dumbledore's expression.

Devastation. Sheer terror.

Dumbledore was pale and frozen in place and Harry couldn't imagine why such a simple phrase could shock a powerful man such as him.

From behind him, Auror Rendahl passed them and pointed at something in the corner. Harry's eyes followed the movement and he suddenly knew why people kept screaming.

The severed head of Antonin Dolohov lay on the ground, innocently staring up at them. Blood stained a white robe that has been carelessly left behind.

And Harry knew.

The spy must've been caught and none of this was Voldemort's doing.

His conclusion left him cold and the fact that neither Dumbledore nor the Auror said anything added to his unease.

Unfortunately, his problems just didn't end when another group of Aurors pushed past the terrified civilians, worry etched onto their faces.

"Auror Rendahl," one of the men said and then he began to speak in Norwegian. Dumbledore barely reacted, still watching the spot where the spell has disintegrated.

The report however spelled trouble and Rendahl nodded, his cheerful demeanor completely gone.

The man turned toward Harry and his next words completely shocked the younger wizard to the core.

"Mass breakout from Azkaban. The Dark Lord's most deadly followers are back."

* * *

Minister Farnes led the way and Harry almost needed to run to keep up with her pace. She was worried and rightfully so. This was the third time an attack happened under her watchful eye, leaving nothing but death and more trauma behind. The political outcome just added to the catastrophe, causing tension between several countries.

Fudge was in a coma. That alone created such a mess Harry didn't want to even think about. Elections appointed Rufus Scrimgeour as his successor. Usuallly, the loss of a man like Fudge wouldn't have aggravated the wizarding world to such a degree. He had been weeks away from stepping down.

But the circumstances and the attack left a bitter taste, fundamentally destroying whatever faith people across Europe had in their governments.

One thing was certain, though. Antonin Dolohov didn't attack Fudge. The forensics department at St. Mungos managed to confirm that Dolohov has been dead for more than a couple of hours. It didn't give them a lead on the identity of the attacker, but it also made people aware that they were essentially dealing with attacks coming from multiple sides.

No one knew about the association, but it was only a matter of time before Voldemort retaliated against them.

"Don't look so distraught," Farnes said, noticing his expression. "You'd feel worse if you were in my position."

She led him down to an underground department, which was exclusively used by Aurors for training.

"That bad?" Harry asked.

Farnes smiled, but it was forced, more like a pained grimace. Nonetheless, she continued on, nodding at the guards who opened the door for them.

"They want me to resign," she whispered. "They don't think I can protect them. Not after so many attacks. And honestly, I don't even know if I'm doing the right thing. Not after this."

"Let them talk," Harry said. He didn't need to add the Minister's insecurity to his problems. Especially with him putting his safety in Norway's hands.

"That's easy for you to say, Potter."

Harry's laugh burst out of him, surprising them both.

"Actually it is." His pointed look made Farnes grin, before she regained her composure.

"True. But in the end, you have to appear strong and in control of the situation. As a leader that is the most important component for us and that's why I want you to start your training."

Harry sighed and turned away from her to take a closer look at the training room and the small group of young Aurors who were currently busy kicking each others' asses. To his surprise, he noticed the strange training equipment decorating the walls of the hall. The stuff looked suspiciously like Muggle devices and there were even some medieval-looking swords and crossbows one could use.

"We're dealing with both, Lord Voldemort and the association and that's why I want you to give it your best. Train your magic and your body and use every opportunity to gain more knowledge," Farnes said, stepping away from him.

Harry nodded, understanding the gravity of their situation. There was no time for covert planning and reluctant dancing with the devil. But something bothered him, still.

"Do you think, the whole 'For the Greater Good' thing has anything to do with Grindelwald?" he asked carefully, watching her face for a reaction. Farnes closed her eyes briefly.

And that was all the confirmation he needed. But she chose her words carefully.

"It could be," she said. "The association is essentially fighting against Dark Lords, but what's to say some of his followers didn't join them to establish a new society? All we know is that Gellert Grindelwald is still imprisoned at Nurmengard. He won't be able to escape."

"But that doesn't mean he couldn't be involved in some way. Even indirectly," Harry threw in, crossing his arms. Auror Rendahl was approaching them, giving Harry a bright smile.

"Let me worry about that, Potter. Focus on your training and leave the rest to me," she said, grimacing at the sheer happiness that seemed to radiate from the Auror. She turned around and left Harry standing.

He hated it when people left him out of their plans. Especially when it concerned him to some degree.

The door closed behind her and the Auror touched his shoulder briefly, annoying Harry further.

"Finally joining us, Potter? Now let's see if I can make a man out of you," Rendahl mocked, leading him over to the strange equipment that looked as if it was designed for people to lift weights.

"If that's what you're going for, start with yourself," Harry said, looking him up and down. Thoughts on Grindelwald and Dumbledore's reaction swirled inside his mind and he had zero time for arrogant Aurors who thought they could belittle him.

Rendahl chuckled, not bothered in the slightest.

"We'll see if you can talk back after this." His smile grew.

* * *

Aurors were ruthless bastards, Harry thought, hitting the ground after a particularly nasty spell caught his shoulder.

They have gleefully informed him that nothing in his room contained any cushioning charms.

"Your centre of gravity is off and you're leaving too much space for me to attack. It's deplorable."

Harry just huffed and got back on his feet. He wasn't here to talk or take the bait. Instead, he used his Rowan wand and cast a silent Impedimenta. Wordless spellcasting didn't come that easy to him, but he was slowly improving. He had fought off several Death Eaters by using it, after all. These people were highly trained professionals and he was starting his third year soon.

He wanted to slack off, but in reality that would probably mean death. The looming threat of war didn't leave much time and despite his agreement with Voldemort, he knew the older wizard would find loopholes to get rid of him, if he wanted.

Rendahl easily sidestepped the curse and Harry got punished for his overconfidence. A whispered  _Crucio_  and the pain became merciless, leaving him shaking and unstable in both body and mind. Only the strange, comforting presence in his head gave Harry the courage to push past the effects.

To be honest, he should feel worried that some strange being existed inside him that constantly appeared whenever he was in danger. He chalked it up to self-preservation, or his conscience. But hearing voices and imagining things wasn't very common. He knew that.

And he should feel worried.

Some Aurors began to laugh, clearly enjoying his suffering. It was striking how much they mirrored Voldemort's Death Eaters in that moment.

"Your battle tactics are unimaginative and weak, Potter," Rendahl jeered. "Using your invisibility and some fancy toys won't always work. And frankly speaking, it's how a coward would fight."

Coward.

There was that word again.

Fuck him. Harry snarled, jumping up. The thing inside his mind crooned in delight and Harry suddenly remembered something Eileen had explained while guiding him through another meditation exercise. It was a faint memory, but suddenly he understood it. He just knew.

His body was a weapon.

His mind a conduct.

And his soul the driving force.

His wand a mere extension of them.

Deep inside him, magic was flowing through his body like a tidal wave. And Harry wanted to use it. He wanted to use all of it.

Wizards were ignorant to rely on a piece of wood. But Harry did't want to be like them.

He was  _better_  than them.

"Your parents would be ashamed, Potter. I hear James and Lily were formidable warriors. But you? Cries like a baby after hitting the ground. Shall we take a break?"

People around him began to laugh harder.

Hatred pooled inside him, growing stronger with every word, every insult that was hurled at him. Rationally, he knew it was another attempt to goad him into fighting back. But rational thinking wasn't required for what Harry was attempting to do. He'd never used more than a fraction of his magic against others, not for a lack of trying, but because he never managed to control it. But this time he knew he could.

And so he did.

* * *

_Lily is getting worried. I know she's trying to hide it from me, but I noticed. She's so strong. Far better and smarter than I could ever be._

_But something seems to bother her constantly. Even more so than Lord Voldemort's plans._

_I don't know how much time we have left, but I want to keep her safe from it all._   _Yet, she insists on making these damned potions. Her kindness never seems to find its breaking point._

_Then there's our future. Our son._

_I don't know what to do anymore._

_But I want to do something. There has to be a solution..._

_-J P_

Harry reread the entry, could see the worry carved into the parchment. It was a diary entry from before Harry's birth, detailing all that his mother had done to help the werewolves in need, despite her pregnancy.

He could also see the admiration and love James had for her, which made Harry feel considerably better. That longing would never disappear, but he no longer denied that he still wanted a family, or love. It was something that would always stay with him and Harry took strength from that. It made him feel more human.

Alive.

He was sitting by the fireplace in Potter manor, recovering from the ordeal of the day. His wandless magic underwent a breakthrough and Harry was confident he'd never have issues with his Rowan wand again. Not after getting complete control over his own magical core.

All he needed to do now was to study battle strategies, work on his spell repertoire and continue to train.

From Rendahl's satisfied look, it was a training they were both looking forward to.

Harry was currently wrapped up in his invisibility cloak, taking comfort in the soft material and the amount of magic it contained. It felt familiar.

Of course, Dumbledore had given him his father's cloak for a reason, entrusting him with one of the Deathly Hallows and not just a simple family heirloom. There was no cloak in existence that could hide a person as effectively as this one did.

And Harry fully intended to make the most of it. In fact, the road to becoming the Master of Death and thwarting Voldemort's ambitions became slightly easier to walk for him. As for what happened after he achieved his goal... He'd deal with it in the future.

Alby suddenly appeared, holding a letter, which the elf handed over, before disappearing again. Harry read it, his eyes scanning the contents for any deception.

It was decided.

Rita Skeeter agreed to do the interview and Harry grinned after reading her hasty reply. It was just bloody perfect.

Unfortunately, his relief was abruptly taken away from him, because Alby reappeared again, announcing that Harry had a visitor.

He stood on shaky legs, still feeling battered.

Not many people knew of this place. And all Durmstrang students he had invited over in the past had promised to keep it a secret. So it was either one of them, or a threat.

"Did he introduce himself?" he asked the house-elf and Alby nodded, staring at him with wide eyes.

"A Remus Lupin requested to see you, Master Harry."

Harry froze.

_What?_


	22. Animal Instincts

The miniature lion traipsed around on the mantlepiece, eyeing the new guest with something akin to dislike. Harry watched the figurine, lost in thought. Behind him, Lupin took a seat and tried to make himself more comfortable, looking out of place in his tattered, dirty robes, surrounded by the rich decor of Potter manor. White curtains, devoid of dust, threw ominous shadows around the room.

"How did you find me?" Harry asked carefully.

Lupin's voice was warm and gentle, a contrast to his outward appearance.

"I guessed. Your father once mentioned this manor and offered me a place to stay in case I'd need it."

Harry gazed at his Invisibility Cloak, haphazardly laying on the floor.

"Because of your condition?"

He picked it up and Lupin's sharp eyes followed Harry's movements with keen interest.

"So you know about that?" he inquired.

Harry wordlessly pointed at the stack of letters and books that were still placed on the coffee table to his right and Lupin was quick to understand.

"I see."

Oddly enough, it wasn't that easy to confront Lupin, who had close ties to a past Harry wanted to understand. Now he had all the answers, slightly out of reach. But he couldn't imagine himself questioning this stranger just to squeeze every last drop of information out of him.

They weren't family. And would never be, regardless of his father's unconditional trust in his furry friend.

Lupin smiled, as if reading Harry's thoughts.

"How have you been? From what I've heard you were living with you aunt before you left?"

Harry grimaced internally. The Dursleys... Not a good topic to start things off. "I'm good. Or as well as I can be." He decided to be vague.

Lupin's smile fell at that. "I saw you."

"Oh?" Harry voiced, feeling annoyed. He didn't exactly want to talk about their 'first meeting' either. The realization that Lupin had been aware of his presence the entire time was another insult to Harry's observational skills. Or lack of them, if Rendahl's criticism was to be believed.

The werewolf continued, seeing past his nonchalant attitude. "That day in the pub, I noticed you. You shouldn't take a stroll around Knockturn Alley."

Harry snorted.

"Now you're playing the concerned parent. Is that what you came for?" His eyes met the man's inscrutable gaze as he turned fully towards him. Harry chuckled. "If you're here to butter me up, forget about it."

Lupin frowned. "I understand that this situation must be difficult for you, but there's no reason for you to get hostile. I'm not going to attack you."

Behind them, the lion let out a roar, reflecting its master's emotions.

Harry's shoulders sacked and he took a seat, deliberately reducing the distance between him and his 'guest'. At first, he hadn't even felt the need to invite the man in, suspicious of Lupin's identity as much as his motives. But eventually, curiosity won over self-preservation. Again.

Now he'd have to deal with it.

"Let's not pretend that you just came here to have a nice chat, Mr. Lupin," said Harry. Confronting the man outright would probably be easier.

"Remus. You can call me Remus," Lupin offered and Harry nodded, feeling reluctant about it.

"As I said, you're here for something else entirely and I want to know what you want."

They stared at each other, before Lupin sighed, his premature lines on his face getting deeper. For a moment, Harry thought the man looked surprisingly compassionate and withdrawn for a werewolf. There were none of the animal instincts dark arts books liked to detail. None of the anger or occasional temperament one should expect.

"You're different," Lupin said, shaking his head. And there was loss, even regret in his gaze. Emotions that insulted Harry as much as they confused him.

"Colder, hardened even. I was hoping-"

"Stop," Harry said, eyes narrowed. "Stop  _hoping,"_ he continued forcefully _._  "Stop putting expectations on me. I don't even know you and the last time we met I was still in diapers. So don't think I'm the mirror image of your lost friends." He smiled bitterly. "That's all I ask for."

Lupin's eyebrows rose in surprise. "I wasn't attempting to do that. Despite your concerns, I'm also here to get to know you better."

Harry leaned forward, no even bothering to hide his feelings. "Really? Then why are you judging me for who I am?"

The werewolf remained unfazed, though, regarding Harry calmly. Not even once did he lose his composure, which was a bit intimidating. It made him more of an enigma.

"Who you are? There's more to a person than that and you know it," Lupin said. "Just because you're different from what I expected, it doesn't mean I would reduce you to your natural defense mechanism." The man watched him without reproach. His greying hair almost made Lupin look like a wise, battle-hardened survivor.

"Defense mechanism, you say." Harry bit his lip, disliking how thoroughly this man could see past him.

"Yes," Lupin whispered gently. "If it wasn't for the support of my friends, I would've reacted the same way you just did. Which brings us to my reasons for visiting you."

Harry tensed. Finally getting to the point, he thought. Remus Lupin was a smart man. That was undeniable. His calm attitude didn't seem fake and he didn't use it to manipulate others. But behind that gaze Harry saw fierce determination, a raw, almost desperate need to make him understand certain things from his point of view.

"Well?" Harry began.

Lupin sighed and glanced at the letters, his face becoming an unreadable mask. "I know you're in contact with You-Know-Who and given the fact you're still alive, you must have done something to make him reconsider killing you."

Ah, so that's what was bothering the werewolf. Harry regarded him coldly, withholding the urge to snap at him.

"I did," he replied, tilting his head to the side. Lupin's expression darkened at that, which wasn't all that surprising. The man was fiercely loyal to Dumbledore, so he wouldn't appreciate any dark deals Harry made. It was kind of sad, to be honest. Dying honorably seemed more important to these people than fighting for your life.

"That was foolish. He will manipulate you to his cause and discard you as soon as you're no longer useful to him. You-Know-Who doesn't value honesty or trust. He knows nothing of humanity," Lupin warned.

Harry had the sudden urge to laugh hysterically. Lupin honestly thought Harry didn't know anything about the Dark Lord's motives. That was just rich.

He knew better than anyone, knew that the clock was ticking, relentlessly reminding him that it didn't take much to bring him down. Harry smirked.

"But you do?" he goaded, eyes alight with mirth. "Tell me something. Do you want me to die. Is that it? Because you're not the first one who's pretending to be concerned. I mean you're not even offering a solution out of this."

"Albus Dumbledore  _is_  the solution. Come back to Hogwarts and we will protect you, Harry. We'll do our best," Lupin said, his voice pleading.

"Your best is not enough," he warned, furrowing his brows. It was useless to try. "I can't trust Dumbledore to protect me, not after this. Not after living in ignorance for so long, completely unaware that a madman was after my life."

Lupin stiffened, looking alarmed. "What do you mean?

Harry lowered his eyes, staring at his hands. "I don't have to explain myself. Not to you," he whispered. "But you need to. So tell me, what were you doing after my parents died? Where were you? You were supposed to be their friend, but you didn't even bother to come back." The corner of his mouth quirked upward. "None of you did. You just left me and now you have the audacity to return after all this time?"

Remus breathed deeply, looking a bit agitated. "You were not the only one who suffered," he replied, his voice firm. "I lost my best friends that night, people who mattered to me."

"Poor you," Harry mocked. Straightening in his seat, he met the man's burning gaze. "Let me tell you something. You didn't lose your friends. You lost your safety net, that's it."

Predictably, Lupin's anger flared up, but Harry went on. "I know my father and his friends took you in and never judged you for being a werewolf. And you, grateful as you were, clung to these people, because that's all you ever had at Hogwarts."

"You don't know anything, Harry," the werewolf spat. "You're bitter and you're using your feelings to protect yourself from getting hurt."

"I know enough," he replied. "I know how to read between the lines. Do you want to know what my father said about you, thought about you in his last weeks before the end? He liked you, but his suspicion followed him everywhere," Harry explained, placing his hand on his chin, pretending to think. "None of them trusted you. None. Sirius Black repeatedly said you were working with Voldemort."

Lupin snarled. "He betrayed your parents!"

"And he will  _pay_. But first, I want you to understand that your precious Dumbledore can't protect me. I'm better off learning as much as I can at Durmstrang. And I have people on my side working with me. So, you don't need to think I'm doing this alone."

The man huffed, disbelief evident in his expression. "Tell me, Harry. Do you have friends? You judged me for clinging to mine, so tell me. Do you really have friends, people you can trust?"

Harry blinked, wondering what this was about.

"Of course I do."

Lupin went further, ignoring his comment. "People who would do anything for you. Friends who would die for you in this war, never deserting you?"

Harry sat stiffly in his chair. Of course he had friends. What a ridiculous thing to ask. He had Krum and...

"I-," he began, feeling cold at once, despite the humid air in the living room. The figurine on the mantlepiece didn't move.

Lupin smiled wryly.

"Children who practice the Dark Arts only learn how to value power. And with power comes loyalty. But not love. As soon as you lose what power you have over them, they will leave you."

Harry's hands tightened on the armrests. "That's something a bigot would say. I'm surprised you can say that, given your history."

Lupin should know better by now. He should know that it was incredibly insulting to judge all people by the type of magic they practiced. Loyalty didn't just come with power. If it did, Harry would've amassed an entire army of Durmstrang students by now.

But he couldn't help but wonder. Did people like Danielle truly care? And wasn't Daria one of those that mentioned his so called 'potential' first, so much more interested in that aspect of his life and not Harry himself?

Lupin's knowing look just made his thoughts spin out of control. He remembered Filipp's words and Malfoy's interest...

"It's only natural to be attracted to power. It's what makes the Dark Arts so seductive and fundamentally different from any other type of magic in the first place. It's why people worship the Dark Arts more than their own family members. It's the reason why it's so easy to lose yourself in it, disregarding your feelings for others."

"You're speaking from experience." Harry stared up at Lupin, picking up on the shift in their conversation.

The man smiled again, but there was a sadness weighing him down. "At times, my affliction made me do things, say things that I should regret, but I simply lost the ability to care. If it wasn't for your father's refusal to leave me behind in my darkest moments, I would have ended up alone and full of hatred, selfishly craving more power over others. It's an instinct, Harry. One I fear."

Lupin glanced down, trying to hide his self-deprecation. But it was useless to do that. Harry observed him closely, wondering how far a man like Remus Lupin could venture into the Dark. What he saw in those moments...

"You're afraid of yourself," he said quietly and Lupin leaned back in his seat.

"There's more to me than my monthly transformations."

"But you're still denying that part of yourself, pushing it away. Otherwise you wouldn't say you fear it," Harry replied. The man however shrugged helplessly, looking tired.

"Perhaps." Looking up, the werewolf caught Harry's eye, changing the topic. "Right now, I just want you to understand that you need to be careful. If you want to continue doing this without our support, you need to find your own. Ask yourself what it is that people want from you?" He paused, taking a deep breath. "Power? Protection for their families? A new leader, maybe? People can be very selfish."

Harry huffed, rubbing his neck, before offering a grim smile. "I know."

The silence between them was tense and slightly uncomfortable, but Harry didn't break eye contact. In the end, Lupin would need to accept his creature status and he would need to learn that not every dark wizard or witch craved power more than love. On the other hand, Harry would also need to reconsider what friendship truly meant. He'd never known much about it, after all. Perhaps he also needed to come in contact with more people on Dumbledore's side. It was true that he was slowly getting influenced by his environment. And that couldn't go on. Not if he wanted to remain neutral.

"In any case, I won't force you to change schools. And I can't make you reconsider," Lupin said, leaving his seat and heading for the door. "I might have trouble accepting that you're essentially negotiating with You-Know-Who, but you didn't abandon your convictions. You're a good person." Lupin smiled.

"Will you tell Dumbledore?" Harry asked, ignoring the 'good person' part. Right now, he didn't really feel like one.

Lupin shook his head. "No, I won't. Albus doesn't trust you as much as I want him to, but there's no reason for me to disclose your secrets. And mine," the man murmured. "My kind has ties to the Dark, ties that are difficult to sever, even for me."

Harry followed him to the door and Lupin turned around one last time, before leaving.

"I accepted to teach Defense against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts this year. If you need help, no matter what it is, don't hesitate to contact me."

Harry nodded, a bit surprised. Dumbledore must really be desperate enough to consider getting a werewolf under his sphere of influence again. He doubted the students would be informed of Lupin's werewolf problem.

And Voldemort already had loyal werewolves under his command.

"Before I leave, I also need to warn you, in case you forgot," Lupin said, lips tightening briefly. "With the Azkaban breakout, it's very likely you will encounter Sirius Black again. You-Know-Who is furious enough with Dolohov's loss, from what I've heard. So if you antagonize or challenge Sirius, it won't help." he warned and Harry's eyebrows rose.

So Lupin had enough inside contacts to know how Voldemort was doing right now? That was certainly interesting.

"Take care, Harry," Lupin said with genuine affection and left.

After closing the door, Harry leaned against it, pressing his hands against his face.

'Merlin, help me,' he thought, breathing heavily.

* * *

The training hall had been expanded in size. Aurors were currently doing their routine, probably acting on orders from the head Auror. As far as he knew, there was still no lead on the perpetrator who managed to poison Minister Fudge right under their nose, but it was clear that most people here took it as a personal insult.

Minister Farnes was recruiting, ignoring the public outcries in order to focus on expanding their security. With the recent loss, many people felt that their protection wasn't guaranteed anymore. As a result, training became more demanding, challenging veterans and new recruits at the same level.

Harry sat in the back, resting his elbows on his knees. All around him, people were hurling spells at each other, practicing close combat movements. On top of fighting their assigned partner, they also had to be aware of any stray spells coming in their direction.

It was a chaotic mess.

"Potter," someone called and Harry turned his head. Rendahl was waiting for him.

"Again?" he asked, standing up slowly. His back hurt like hell, but apparently the Auror wasn't quite done with him yet.

"Stop whining and get moving. We don't have all day."

Withdrawing his wand, Harry was about to take his usual spot, but the man held up a hand, stopping him.

"No wand this time, Potter," he said, his gaze calculating.

Harry stared, gobsmacked. "What?"

Rendahl laughed, clearly enjoying this. "You heard me, boy. We'll be practicing close combat and I want you to be able to fight back without a wand."

"And naturally you get to keep yours," Harry scoffed, crossing his arms. The Auror just rolled his eyes and motioned him forward. Harry took his position, not really sure what he was supposed to do.

At school, duelling with Krum was all about endurance and imagination. He knew what to expect, at the very least. Here, it was another story.

The Auror watched him in the dim light, a hint of a smile in place. "Losing your wand in battle leaves many wizards at the mercy of their enemies. Surely, you know the value of a good, old Muggle fight."

"Yes, but all I do is throwing punches. If you expect me to do some fancy moves-"

Rendahl smirked.

"Right," Harry mumbled, feeling unsure.

Honestly, he doubted that such moves would help him out. He was still growing, too young to win in a physical fight against an adult. Rendahl must've seen his doubtful expression, though.

"Muggles employ various techniques to throw off opponents twice their size. It's not impossible to defeat a grown wizard with nothing but the right movement and proper knowledge of the human body. You need to be quick, precise and focused. That's all."

Harry frowned in thought. "Somehow I doubt I can be focused when I'm getting tortured."

"You did quite well in our first lesson," Rendahl said, looking at him in suspicion, obviously not aware of the details. "That's another thing for you to learn. Pain is no excuse for getting defeated."

Harry nodded, gazing at his feet. He didn't want to tell the man that a strange voice inside his head was  _helping_  him out with that. They would probably send him straight to a mediwizard.

"Don't use your wand. Duck, avoid the spells and try to incapacitate your opponent without magic," Rendahl barked and his wand was now pointing at Harry.

Easy for him to say.

And then he had to avoid a Reducto, taking a half front stance and ducking slightly as the spell flew above his head. Rendahl wasn't playing around, inching closer to him and firing off spell after spell, harmless ones and curses that would quickly defeat the younger wizard.

Harry would need to get closer. Another spell grazed his knee, making him stumble forward. He barely had time to roll away.

Rendahl looked bored, but that didn't fool him for a second. The man enjoyed this. Loved pushing him around without mercy.

Harry knew that the most vulnerable part right now was the man's head, but first he'd need to get rid of the wand. He jumped to the side, ready to use a front kick, but Rendahl was faster, jabbing his wand upward and conjuring ropes that wound around Harry's leg, taking him down at once.

That hurt. He groaned, cursing himself for being so slow.

"You can do better than that," the Auror said, not even bothering to help him up after he cancelled his spell.

And then they resumed their positions. On and on it went and Harry tried to memorize the body movements Rendahl showed him, the jumping kicks, the round hook punches, the elbow block. He learned about the various pressure points one could attack.

He was starting to like it, despite falling on his ass again and again.

Unfortunately, his fun was interrupted with the arrival of Rita Skeeter who has been invited to the ministry for a special interview. Harry stood, ignoring the way Rendahl's eyes lit up at the obvious pain he was in.

"You're a sadist," he said, wiping the sweat off his face with a towel. The man shrugged, but his eyes darkened in approval.

"You seem to enjoy it, Potter." Rendahl grinned. Harry's jaw clenched in response.

* * *

There was something about Voldemort that made Harry feel reckless, which was defeating the main purpose of his training. And it wasn't just the whole Boy-Who-Lived business that made him pay attention.

He hated it. Hated that his initial caution was slowly making way for something far more dangerous. Hell, he was starting to act like one of the man's countless Death Eater pets, desperate to soak up every piece of information about the Dark Lord, anything that would sate his curious mind.

Things had been less muddled in the past, simple even. All he needed to do was to hate the man from a distance. So easy.

Harry drew his jacket around him, shivering slightly.

He would return to Durmstrang soon. And he still needed to travel to Bulgaria next week in order to sort out the assassination stuff people accused him of. There was no time for nasty surprises or Dark Lords, no time for fancy dinner dates or covert meetings in the dark. His troubles were piling up already, a never-ending row of problems just waiting to make him suffer. He couldn't afford to be reckless.

And yet here he was, walking across the road and heading for a small café near the entrance to Neve Alley.

Fuck, he was pathetic.

He was walking right into the arms of his most deadly enemy, or maybe his second most. It was hard to keep track of the people who were vying for his attention, hungry for Potter blood.

Entering the café, he was fiercely reminded of Voldemort's taste for grandeur. Harry sighed, raking his hand through his messy hair.

People recognized him. Even the waiters turned, eyeing the new guest curiously. Though it wouldn't threaten Harry's reputation, it would complicated matters. This particular establishment was hidden away from the decent rest of society, an exclusive hideout for the upper class folk wanting to do business away from the eyes of the ministry.

No one would rat him out here, but that didn't mean the Golden Boy was welcome either.

A smartly dressed waiter led him to the private area, away from the guests and Harry felt tension creeping up, aware of the eyes that followed his movements. Tea was served in expensive china pots and the hushed words of several guests reached his ears. Some people were no doubt using privacy wards, not trusting a single soul in this particular place.

He was clearly underdressed. And Voldemort hadn't said anything about appropriate dressing robes, which meant he either wanted to humiliate Harry or simply didn't care.

Square tables with glass tops filled the area and Harry took a seat at the back, hidden away from the rest of the crowd.

He steepled his fingers as he waited for the Dark Lord, resisting the urge to look around in wariness. Classical music played in the background and the small, floating candlelights were reflected by the table tops. It was quite tasteful, although he wasn't keen on meeting the man in this place.

Harry ordered a glass of water and leaned back, closing his eyes and willing his body to relax.

The interview with Skeeter had gone well, though he wasn't surprised at her persistence to write about Harry instead. But she had to write about the most powerful Dark Lord after all, which took no small amount of bribing on his part.

He could already see the headlines, though.  _The Life and Lies of Tom Marvolo Riddle - Hypocrite or Visionary?_

That would give people something to think about, especially since Harry had permitted to let Skeeter credit him for revealing so many details about the man. He still needed to watch that second memory Dumbledore had given him, but he wouldn't be deterred. Besides, Dumbledore never said anything specific about the vials, which meant Harry could do with it whatever he wanted.

It was too late to turn back now.

"Hello, Harry," a pleasant voice greeted and Harry's eyes snapped open.

Voldemort took his seat, smiling cooly at his startled expression. Damn, he hadn't noticed him at all.

What he did notice however was the man's lack of disguise and his confident posture. The waiter was suspiciously absent for now.

Harry scoffed internally. A Dark Lord wouldn't use some sort of petty disguise like a common criminal just because people on the street recognized him. He was probably delighted to witness the effect he had on those fools, no doubt asserting more power this way.

"My Lord, to what do I owe the pleasure?" he asked lightly and Voldemort regarded him calmly.

"As insolent as always, brat." There was no emotion in his voice, just a blank expression that revealed nothing of the man's intentions. Harry felt his heartbeat in his throat.

"Wouldn't want to disappoint you," said Harry. He felt the man's gaze on him, carefully tracing his features. He'd done that before, Harry thought. Always searching for something, always looking. It was disconcerting.

"Of course not." Voldemort leaned forward, suddenly reaching out for Harry's wrist. Cool hands came in contact with his skin, setting Harry on fire. He clenched his jaw, willing the thing inside his head to  _calm down_. His scar twitched in response and Harry almost gasped, barely managing to hide it from Voldemort's attentive gaze.

Those eyes wandered lower, finally taking in the bruises on Harry's hands he didn't bother to conceal before coming here. A knowing look, that's all he caught, before the man masked his expression once again.

Pale fingers were sliding along his wrist, before letting him go.

Harry wanted to rub the spot.

"You've been quite busy, Harry. I haven't seen you in a while," the man began, a hint of amusement in his tone.

"Well, you've had your fun. Didn't want to interfere," Harry replied. "How are your Azkaban followers doing, by the way? More unstable than usual? Or is that a requirement for getting promoted?"

Voldemort's lips curled up in distaste. "Careful, boy. You wouldn't want to provoke fate." His eyes darkened, cold. "I'd say all of them are eager to meet you."

Of course, they would want to. And to be honest, Harry couldn't wait to get his hands around Sirius Black's neck. So it was quite mutual.

He chuckled, letting the man know what he thought of that threat. His fingers itched to find one of those pressure points he learned about, making the bastard suffer.

"What do you want?" he asked finally.

Voldemort waved a stoic waiter over, ordering a drink, before sizing him up again. Harry felt dirty all of a sudden.

"I want many things, Potter." Pale lips offered a brief smile. "In order to get what I want, your cooperation is necessary. However, it seems that you keep neglecting that part of our deal."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "You never said what you wanted me to do. Meeting you just to draw the association out won't work all the time. So I'm afraid you're not very successful."

Voldemort hummed, snapping his fingers. "Is that so?"

The waiter returned with a plate and for the first time Harry took note of the vacant expression in the man's aged features. He was under the Imperius.

Harry stared at the plate, confused. But Voldemort wasn't paying attention to him, his eyes now taking in the new guests who entered the exclusive area of the café.

"I believe it's time for dinner," Voldemort said and with a casual movement the black cloth hiding the content on the plate disappeared.

Harry regretted looking at it.

"A head for a head, an apt description, don't you think, Harry?"

The severed head of Professor Wilkes was staring at him. And Harry stared right back.

He felt sick and didn't understand what was going on. His mind was churned up with horror and suspicion. How was that possible? He knew that the Ministry had taken care of every Death Eater at his school. Unless...

And suddenly Harry knew that Voldemort must've killed him, must've enjoyed the nausea and trauma it would cause Harry, must've wanted to terrorize him in this morbid way. A head for a head. Wilkes was the one responsible for killing Dolohov. Two spies on different sides. And Harry was witnessing the consequences of that betrayal.

Alarm washed over him.

The guests must've seen it, too. And from the furious looks, Harry guessed they weren't innocent, either. It meant the association was here. Voldemort's faint amusement was all the evidence he needed.

"Your Potions Professor was spying on you. Thankfully, traitors like Wilkes always go around in packs."

Harry drew his wand, trying to get rid of the gory details. The waiter slumped to the ground, suddenly unconscious or dead and Harry stared.

The spells came without warning and the Dark Lord threw up a shield, enjoying the show. Evidently, these people were powerless against him, but Voldemort didn't attack, didn't throw killing curses at them. It was quite obvious that tonight they wouldn't simply kill these people. Voldemort would take prisoners instead. And Harry couldn't do anything, having signed up to play the bait. He couldn't save these people.

Did he even want to?

Would he enjoy the sight, the punishment and torture that awaited you as soon as you were under the Dark Lord's mercy? These people were his enemies, right? They wanted to use him for their sick experiments?

Wasn't that enough? But wanting to do these things and actually doing them... Wasn't there a difference?

People began to scream and Harry remembered Lupin's words, accusing him of getting morally corrupted by the Dark. Doing all these things just to save himself.

Harry didn't know what to think; not anymore.


	23. Confessions and Carnage

The sight of his former potions professor wasn't a pleasant one. Despite his apathetic if somewhat dismissive feelings, he couldn't help but think it was a bad fate for that man. But then the wizard had spied on him, after all; if one took Voldemort's word for it.

So it was justified, right?

Right.

It was not, though it should make him feel safe, now that another problem had been dealt with.

But the sight made Harry tremble. These doubts that wouldn't let go of him were entirely misplaced in this situation, but he couldn't help it.

Harry was in over his head in this game.

He knew that by now. Adding guilt or pity to this mess just made it that much more complicated.

Voldemort did it on purpose, of course. He enjoyed the sight of his enemies at their lowest, mentally and physically exhausting them until they begged for death. With Harry as his temporary bait, he could play him like an instrument, designed for his personal entertainment until Harry's usefulness expired. A man like him didn't see his enemies as people. Just toys.

Harry's rational part was aware of that already. Has known it for quite a while. But it still rattled him; made Harry feel as if something inside him was slowly losing grasp on the things that made him want to go on.

With some effort, he stepped away from the table, leaving Voldemort's unwelcome protection to put more distance between himself and his prophesied enemy.

Two wizards kept pointing their wands at him, the weaker target. They had ceased to attack Voldemort, despite losing one of their own, but that didn't mean Harry was safe. He was still the main reason for their unwelcome visit tonight, what with Voldemort implying that he'd had people shadowing him.

The taller of the two stepped forward, eyes narrowed at the unlikely pair. "Step aside, false lord. We have no business with you."

Harry was instantly on guard.

False Lord?

"He killed your comrade. Surely you won't let that go?" he said, keeping a watch on Voldemort's movements, as his mind tried to put more pieces together. The insufferable bastard was still calmly sitting at the table, gazing thoughtfully at Harry as if he'd done something that didn't fit the puzzle.

The attacker wasn't impressed. And he saw through Harry's attempt to play safe, to keep them talking. Yellowed teeth became visible, a smile as ugly as the rest of him.

"He will meet his maker. But you, Potter. You will meet our Master. He's most eager to get a good look at you."

"Tell him I don't give a fuck," Harry snarled, feeling alarmed. Whoever remained at the top of this chain was a threat. That was clear. Voldemort wouldn't prioritize getting rid of this elusive man, if that wasn't the case. And speaking of Lords...

"A little help here? Or do you want to sit back and enjoy the show?" Harry glanced at the unmoving Dark Lord, barely suppressing his irritation at the sight. They were both supposed to uphold their deal, but so far the Dark Lord wasn't all that concerned with Harry's fate.

"Something like that," the man replied, bored.

"Enough talking. Visnerus!"

"Protego," Harry called, watching as the curse rebounded on his shield.

So it came down to this.

The other one aimed his wand at the remains of his professor, deliberately incinerating what was left. And still, Voldemort didn't so much as blink.

Seconds later Harry understood why.

The Death Eaters arrived suddenly, Apparating inside the café and blocking all paths, raising a ward to keep the two association spies trapped inside. Tables had been upturned, chairs thrown to the ground in order to escape as quickly as possible. No guests were left. Just one waiter who was still lying unconsciously on the floor. For a second Harry envied the poor sod.

His enemies were outnumbered for now, which was a small comfort. But Voldemort's slaves weren't exactly the better option here, which is why he kept his wand raised upward.

"Proceed," is all Voldemort said and suddenly the Death Eaters rounded up on the two wizards. One Death Eater closest to Harry turned towards him, his mask covering his entire face except for the eyes.

"It's time for you to learn the art of torture, Potter. Just for future reference," he whispered in his ear, before straightening his back, having noticed his Lord's warning stare.

And without further ado, the one-sided battle began. Harry felt goosebumps crawling up his skin as a screeching voice broke through the noise, a sing-song like quality emerging from the depths of insanity. The only witch without a mask appeared in the centre, approaching the two cornered wizards with unhinged grace, as they struggled to keep their shields up against the onslaught. Harry had to give them some credit. Instead of fleeing, they were still determined to capture him.

The witch's eyes however were glued to Harry's unmoving form and there was a deranged power to her gaze. She was dressed in tattered robes, her skirt ripped in places that revealed dirtied boots and bruised skin. Her hair reminded him vaguely of a Medusa-like statue he'd seen in one of Petunia's books.

"Itty bitty baby Potter. Little boy likes to play with the big boys." She chuckled, rubbing her hands gleefully. The two attackers stiffened in fear, obviously recognizing the witch.

Harry had an inkling and it didn't help that he was the focus of her attention.

He really needed to get out of here. Preferably in one piece before the night was out.

"Bella, focus on the target," one Death Eater called.

Harry's mind was suddenly flooded with information on Bellatrix Lestrange, a deadly skilled witch who had rejoined her Lord after the Azkaban breakout. Harry recalled seeing her blurred image on the front page of the Daily Prophet.

It meant trouble.

"But baby Potter is also my target, right?" She pouted, still looking at him. Harry instinctively stepped back, almost hitting the table behind him.

"You-" one of the unknown men voiced, anger and fear lacing his voice.

"Me," she said, throwing her head back, black hair cascading down her back. "Me me me. And you? Oh, right. Crucio."

The screams began and the second attacker didn't do a single thing to defend his friend, staring with empty eyes at the scenario. His shield crumbled in the end, and another Death Eater hit him with a powerful stunning spell. The man fell back and Harry watched in morbid fascination as one of the masked wizards grabbed him by the shoulders, dragging him forward until his body was positioned in front of Voldemort's table.

What would they do now?

The screams nearly shattered his eardrums and with horror Harry saw as Bellatrix began to gouge the wizard's eyes out with a dark spell, cackling in delight as more blood poured out of his wounds. Around them, people cheered, egging her on.

Harry stepped forward.

And Bellatrix raised her head, examining him closely. More heads turned in his direction, obviously annoyed at having their entertainment interrupted. Harry tried to ignore the stare at his back coming from the Dark Lord.

"He doesn't deserve this," he said, gripping his wand tightly. Sweat made his skin clammy and he felt as if thousand ants were crawling all over his body. But he held her stare.

She sneered. "Foolish boy." As if to prove her point, she threw a disemboweling curse at the unknown man, hitting his stomach with deadly precision. The screams became weaker and Harry knew there wasn't much he could do now. But he felt sick watching this. Sick that he couldn't stop any of it.

"I have more right to decide his fate than you do, Lestrange," he hissed. "He didn't do anything to you. Didn't even bother to attack you. I was his target. So what the fuck are you doing, killing someone who could still be useful?"

"Avada Kedavra," another Death Eater snarled and the attacker was silenced forever. Several Death Eaters laughed at Harry, mocked him for his weakness. The one standing beside him shook his head, as if pitying him.

Dark eyebrows rose and Bellatrix tapped a finger on her chin. "They are enemies of our Lord. Which makes them prey. Just like you." She laughed again, casually stepping over the bloody mess to come closer. Her footsteps left blood on the polished floor and Harry stepped back again, drawing his shoulders up.

"I tire of this," a cold voice interrupted and Harry felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up in alarm. The Dark Lord rose and everyone bowed, falling silent.

Harry turned around and watched as Voldemort cancelled the stunning spell, forcing the other man to regain his consciousness. For a moment, the wizard looked completely lost, but it didn't take long before his eyes fixed on the tall form standing in front of him.

"Where is he?" Voldemort began, evidently having reached the end of his patience.

"Like I would tell you of all people. Scum," the man said and then he spat at the Dark Lord's feet. Harry mentally applauded this man for his courage. The cries of outrage were instantaneous and Bellatrix looked absolutely livid, ready to pounce.

Voldemort merely smiled.

That was the only warning the man got, before his mind was brutally invaded, ripping secrets out of him with an ease equal to child's play. Harry stiffened. Watching a Master Legilimens at work was terrifying and made him feel completely unprepared.

It seemed like hours before Voldemort released the man from his pain.

Blood spilled over the attacker's chin, rapidly growing. He was heaving and clutching his head forcefully. But his impassive gaze from before made way for a strange gleam that Harry couldn't possibly understand.

"Not enough, false Lord. Not enough." The man grinned, revealing blood-stained teeth.

"Is that so?" Voldemort remained completely unfazed.

"Kill me. My life isn't worth the cost of betraying my master," the spy breathed, coughing slightly.

"How loyal you are," Voldemort said, a mocking edge to it. "Pity your mind isn't as well protected as you like to think."

The man's eyes widened in horror.

"Avada Kedavra," Voldemort murmured lazily. A flash of green light appeared, so powerful that it illuminated every corner of the room. And then his victim was no more.

Harry watched as the body fell to the ground; another life extinguished just like that.

It was too much. And too soon.

Someone stepped beside him, a foul breath hitting the side of Harry's face. "You have so much to learn. But don't worry, my baby boy," Bella whispered. "Soon it's your turn. And by the time I'm through with you, you'll wish your Mudblood whore of a mother never gave birth to you."

Harry whirled around, losing it completely, welcoming the sudden hatred he felt for all of them. For her. Anything to stop these feelings that were messing with him. But before he could cast a curse, her dirtied hand slapped his cheek, hard. Harry nearly stumbled back.

"Tell me, how often did she spread her legs for bloodtraitors and half-blood trash to make her feel as if she was worth something," she witch mocked. "Ah right, you wouldn't know."

Harry's mind went blank. But he was frozen on the spot, unable to move a single muscle or curse the witch to hell and back. Voldemort's terrifying magic began to surround his entire body, effectively keeping him in place. Normally, he would've tried to use wandless magic. But this was far from normal.

"Let him be, Bella. The boy is off limits... for now." Voldemort chided, adjusting his robe as he moved forward. A cool hand was placed right between his shoulder blades, effectively trapping Harry without much effort.

He felt Voldemort behind him, standing dangerously close.

"Don't turn away from this," the Dark Lord whispered gently, his words so at odds with the way he said them. "This is what you signed up for, when you decided to be mine to play with."

Green eyes widened.

Around them, the Death Eaters watched their Lord curiously and Bellatrix frowned.

Voldemort glanced up. "Leave. All of you."

"My Lord-" the witch began, but Voldemort's stare was unyielding. All of them Apparated away from the scene, unconcerned about the two corpses still lying on the floor.

"Do you like it, Harry?" the Dark Lord asked lightly. Harry didn't answer, focusing on getting free from the restrictive force of Voldemort's magic.

"You should, considering what happened the last time someone was after you," the Dark Lord continued smoothly, alluding to Harry's brutal attack at the ministry. It was quite obvious that he was implicitly accusing Harry of hypocrisy. Harry recalled some of the things Voldemort had said to him before and he couldn't help but hate himself even more for that.

The man straightened from his position and Harry could do nothing but stare as the Dark Lord headed for the exit. "Showing mercy to your enemies will only get yourself killed. Since your life has always been in my hand, it's not for you to decide what to do with it," Voldemort warned, not even bothering to look back at him. "And how to end it."

Harry breathed heavily, his vision becoming blurred with a loathing for this man he had never felt before. He wanted to unleash it all.

"You've cost me over ten years. Lord Voldemort does not forget. Or forgive." With that, the Dark Lord left and the magic pressing down on Harry suddenly disappeared.

He stood, surrounded by debris, shattered glass and bodies, wondering what he should do now. Not only had Voldemort managed to get something out of this meeting, he even succeeded in tormenting him even more.

Harry's knees hit the ground and he gripped his hair, frustration and fear shattering whatever illusion he had held about winning this game.

It took five minutes before Dumbledore's people arrived. Dumbledore himself proceeded to examine the last traces of Voldemort's magic that still lingered inside the café. Around Harry, people began to investigate the damage, ignoring him completely.

"Potter, you're in deep trouble," the notorious Moody grouched, before dismissing him as if he wasn't worth his time. After a while, Dumbledore shook his head and approached Harry, who kept his head lowered, not wanting to see even more pity being directed at him.

"This one is still alive," one unknown wizard murmured, pointing at the waiter. Harry glanced away.

"Take him to St. Mungo's, Albert," Dumbledore said, before directing his attention at Harry.

"I'd like you to come with me, Harry. Hogwarts should be the safest place for you at the moment," the old man said calmly.

Harry didn't react. Standing on shaky legs, he merely brushed the dirt away from his robe, still avoiding Dumbledore's gaze.

Dumbledore sighed, but he still held his arm up.

Harry's fingers reached out and in the blink of an eye they were both gone.

"There are bruises all over your body. What are you doing?" Poppy Pomfrey mumbled, bandaging Harry's hand with professional care.

He sat on the bed, trying to block out the clinical white on the walls and the nauseating smell of potions.

The matron had a point. Voldemort didn't do much to him. It was all the training that still left him sore and weakened, but she didn't need to know that.

"Can I go now?" he asked.

Pomfrey grimaced. It was clear she didn't want to let him go, but Dumbledore had wanted to speak with Harry as soon as possible.

"Be careful, Mr. Potter. You need more rest."

With that, she turned around and left just as Dumbledore entered the hospital wing. His lime-green robes almost hurt Harry's eyes more than all the white could. But he stared at him, taking in the man's expression.

Something was bothering the wizard. That much was obvious. Evidently, he still had trouble dealing with what happened the day Fudge was attacked. Albus Dumbledore had been very reclusive in the last couple of weeks.

"Would you like to go outside, Harry?" Dumbledore asked. "Fresh air would clear our minds and I believe we both need it."

Harry nodded and followed the wizard with measured steps. There wasn't much he could do and the castle's walls felt strangely enclosing tonight.

The walk outside was spent in comfortable silence, though Harry mulled over what he wanted to say to the headmaster. It was difficult trying to get his thoughts and feelings together. All he knew was that he'd made considerable mistakes that were leading him on a path he really didn't want to walk.

Eventually, they reached the greenhouses and Dumbledore greeted Professor Snape amicably, before steering Harry away from him. Snape was in the process of examining several plants, but his blazing, dark eyes followed the two, no doubt trying to figure out what Harry was doing here. He tried to ignore the man.

His discomfort must've been fairly visible, though. Dumbledore chuckled when he noticed his expression.

"Professor Snape can be a bit intimidating, yes."

"A bit?" Harry risked a glance at the headmaster. Dumbledore looked incredibly tired and it was difficult to tell what the man was thinking.

"Most of the staff avoids him on Mondays. Me included," the headmaster deadpanned and Harry's lips twitched. Really, Snape would fit in well with Durmstrang's staff. Or what was left of it.

"How have you been, Harry?"

They walked a bit further, reaching the edge of the Forbidden Forest. At night, it looked even more dangerous than usual and the strange howls and pinching noises reminded him that some of the most deadly creatures resided in this particular place.

Harry shrugged. "I've been better."

Dumbledore inclined his head, walking closer to one of the Spiky Bushes. The leaves fluttered at the proximity.

"Tom is putting you through unimaginable pain. Nothing a boy your age should see. If I had the power to keep you away from him-"

Harry was quick to interrupt. "I'm getting used to it."

"You shouldn't get used to it, my boy." Dumbledore gazed at the crooked branches as if they held a secret of their own. "I confess I've been aware of your dealings with him for quite a while."

He stared at the man, his face blank. "But you never asked."

"It's not my place to interfere, although it would be preferable not to watch you go through this." Raking a hand across his beard, Dumbledore sighed. "Tom has always been very good at making people do his bidding. But this is different. A mistake on my part to assume that everything remains the same." He paused, considering. "I believe he sees himself in you, which I didn't think would be possible. And that's why he hesitates when it comes to you."

Harry's face darkened. He didn't appreciate the implications. "I'm not him."

"And that's why I'm not interfering," Dumbledore said carefully. "You see, I believe you can resist him. It's precisely because of your strong sense of independence and growing confidence that you can resist his manipulations. Most of his followers possess none of these attributes, looking for the easiest way to attain glory, even if it's by association rather than skill of their own. You are different," Dumbledore declared, staring at him gravely.

Silence met the statement. He'd known that Dumbledore wasn't all that happy with how Harry turned out to be. Most people these days weren't. Still, it was a concession to let him follow through with his plans, half-baked as they were at times. Harry didn't think he would have been able to do half the things he did, if Dumbledore had interfered. Of course, the compliments were an exaggerated effort to make things right, to mend the broken trust.

Something made him want to tell the man everything, though. And that's what he would do.

"I signed an unbreakable contract," Harry admitted with a heavy heart.

Dumbledore nodded in understanding. "That's a very grave mistake."

"Until the association is out of the way, I'm bound to do whatever it takes to draw them out. In return, I have immunity," Harry explained offhandedly.

"A bait. Yes, that would make sense." The old man watched him closely, his eyes sharp behind half moon glasses.

"He knows, or I think he knows that I'm conspiring against him." Harry wondered just how much Voldemort knew about the things Harry had done behind his back. The Skeeter issue should be a secret, but he wasn't all that certain about his interactions with Dumbledore. Voldemort had already admitted that his own spies were watching Harry's movements closely, going so far as to interfere when he was threatened by other people.

Dumbledore stepped away from him, staring ahead. "Have you watched the memories I gave you?"

"Yes. And I won't be the only one who knows," Harry said, seeing no reason to lie about that.

"You will make his parentage a public issue to discredit him in the eyes of his most loyal," Dumbledore concluded, already lost in his own thoughts.

"Is that a problem, Sir?" He didn't want to fight Dumbledore over this.

The headmaster smiled, reassuring him at once. "No, I gave you those memories for a reason. You can learn what kind of man Lord Voldemort truly is. And you're free to do with it whatever you want."

Harry nodded. "Alright." He knew it was a risk and the fallout would be bad. But the wizarding world needed to know more. And if Harry vouched for the truth, it would give him more opportunities in the future to talk to influential people. He was short on allies these days.

"Do you need my help?" Dumbledore asked, gazing at him thoughtfully. The offer was surprising.

"Well, if you know how to break an unbreakable contract, I'd be glad to learn a few things," Harry said dryly. He had no intention of breaking it, of course. In any case, it wasn't possible to do such a thing...

Dumbledore's mischievous expression however told another story. Harry gaped at him, lost for words.

"Nothing is impossible, my boy." The old man winked, before his expression turned serious again.

They walked back to the castle and Harry's eyes settled on the stoic form of the Potions Master who nodded at Dumbledore and proceeded to ignore Harry.

Hogwarts was absolutely breathtaking at night. No students were inside the castle and the hum of ancient magic was soothing, comforting Harry in a way he never experienced.

"I'd like to tell you something," Dumbledore said, breaking the silence. The change in tone wasn't too obvious, but Harry could detect a solemn note to it.

"When I told you that Tom Riddle sees himself in you, I simply wanted to warn you that there are mistakes we commit that can be irreversible."

"And he had committed these...mistakes," Harry added carefully. That wasn't new information.

"He wasn't the only one."

Harry came to a halt. Glancing sideways, he saw that Dumbledore was completely serious.

"You mean you-"

"Yes, Harry," the headmaster interrupted. "When I was your age, slightly older perhaps, I was just as zealous, determined to change the world, to impose my views onto it as if it was the only salvation for the wizarding world. I was desperate, one can say."

Well, that was something new. Harry didn't want to make assumptions, but it sounded like Dumbledore was confessing to having done things similar to a Dark Lord.

"So you're saying you walked the same path as Voldemort at some point? And then what?" he asked carefully.

Dumbledore's expression was serene.

"I realized that I'm not omnipotent. You see, power is a dangerous thing and once I had it, I couldn't trust myself with it. Not after the mistakes I made, the pain I caused," the headmaster said and there was such grief in his eyes, a wound that never healed, scabbing over but never disappearing.

This was the first time, Harry realized, the first time Dumbledore bothered to be honest with him. He could tell that right away. And it was touching, unexpected, but touching. It made him want to reach out, to offer some comfort, even if he felt awkward about it.

"You remind me of myself, Harry. But there's one striking difference between you and me. Or Tom."

Harry's heart sped up "What is it?" He gulped, suddenly nervous.

"I trust you with power, my boy." Dumbledore smiled. It transformed his face, making him look kind and grandfatherly. "Unlike him, you do everything you can to defend yourself; you don't attack. And you show mercy when it matters, you hold back when it's easier to go on. I noticed it on several occasions and that's why I gave you the memories."

Harry couldn't help but recall Voldemort's words, who said the exact opposite thing. Mercy was a weakness in this war. But Dumbledore seemed to believe it made Harry stronger.

Both of them were caging him in, their expectations too much to bear.

His musings were interrupted, though. A blessing in disguise.

A frantic witch approached them, her expression grim even from the distance.

"Minerva, is everything alright?" Dumbledore asked, having noticed the same.

"No. Cornelius Fudge didn't survive. The injuries were fatal," she said and her lips tightened in displeasure.

Harry closed his eyes.

'So the man didn't wake up from his coma', he thought. It still bothered him. He couldn't tell why the association thought it would be better to get rid of the old minister. From what he knew, the new one was actually doing something, which should have been more problematic for them. So why? And was it really Wilkes who had attacked them at the ministry? Or someone else? He certainly could remember the very personal challenge, the way the man had been eager to make Harry run after him.

He needed to see Minister Farnes as quickly as possible.

A week later, Harry was crossing the main hall, reaching one of the interrogation rooms in the Bulgarian Ministry.

The circular rooms and dark tapestries weren't exactly inviting, but what surprised him more about this particular building was the fact that everything looked positively ancient. The Bulgarian wizarding government prided itself on history, even more so than Norway or Great Britain. He could see it in the old, wooden structures of the doors, which were decorated with detailed carvings that seemed to move, depicting wars and more obscure tales.

Two Aurors were guarding the door, but they recognized him immediately. His appointment led him to a secluded part and not many witches or wizards were present. Nobody gawked at him.

One of them nodded and opened the door. Harry had wisely kept his Rowan wand with him, handing over his Holly wand when asked for it. He didn't trust anyone. Only the familiar sight of Viktor Krum made him feel slightly less on edge.

Krum's interrogation was slowly coming to an end, but they weren't allowed to communicate, which is why the boy left after a while, only giving Harry a faint smile, before the door was closed. Krum looked pained...

"Ah, Mr. Potter. So nice to see you," a tall wizard with a crooked nose said, approaching him calmly. His accent was heavy and his voice pleasant. But the way he gazed at him made the alarm bells inside Harry's head go off.

"We have a few routine questions. Nothing too serious, I assure you," the man explained, mocking him. At least, that's what it felt like.

"Introductions are in order, don't you think?" Harry asked coldly.

Several Aurors chuckled at that. He really didn't see what was so funny about it, though.

His gaze landed on the steel table right in the middle of the room. It looked so strange, certainly like nothing that should belong inside the Bulgarian Ministry with all the wooden doors, tables, chairs, even statues.

Two Aurors grabbed him from behind without warning, steering him over to the table.

"What the - let me go!" Harry struggled, trying to get free. Rendahl would've laughed at him for being so weak.

Shit! They were ridiculously strong and Harry could've hit himself for his stupidity. Of course, this was a trap. Who the hell would accuse him of killing their minister without having solid evidence at hand? But then... Why was Krum...?

"Finally got it, didn't you, boy?" the tall wizard jeered and the others slammed Harry onto the table, making him dizzy with the impact.

Manacles appeared out of nowhere, winding themselves around his wrists. Harry instantly used his wandless magic to get rid of them, but even his feet were being bound, leaving him defenseless and exposed. His wand was still in his pocket, but he couldn't reach it.

"We knew you never killed the minister, Potter. It was all a legal diversion to get you to come here without your pesky Dark Lord hovering over you all the time."

"It was you, wasn't it?" Harry spat, gritting his teeth in frustration. Some sort of magic was preventing him from using his wandless abilities and he didn't know how to counteract it. "You killed the Minister."

"Maybe." The wizard grinned nastily. "In any case, this will be quick and painless. Our master will be quite happy."

So it was the association. And evidently, they were in control of the Bulgarian government. For a second, Harry wished 'his Dark Lord' was hovering over him. But something was telling him that he would have to do this by himself this time.

"The potion, if you will," the unknown man said to one of his comrades.

Another man clad in Auror robes approached the table and swiftly handed over a vial containing a black, gooey substance. The sight made Harry panic. He struggled harder, the bindings cutting into his skin. Merlin, he had been such an idiot, walking into unknown territory and assuming everything would go by law just because it was the ministry.

He never considered the possibility that the association might have already succeeded in their attempts to infiltrate European ministries.

The man waved his wand and a deep cut appeared on Harry's forearm, staining his robe with blood. He desperately tried not to make a sound, but the pain made him lose focus.

Without hesitation, several drops were poured over the wound, the potion instantly reacting with Harry's blood. His arm was suddenly getting numb and the feeling was spreading over his entire body, making him feel sluggish. He wanted to close his eyes.

Just what was it?

"What are you...doing to me?" he slurred.

"Don't worry, Potter. It will be all over soon," the wizard said, gently touching Harry's cheek. Harry didn't even feel it. The potion was messing with his nervous system.

"Are you monitoring his vitals?"

From the corner of his eye, he saw as another young Auror was chanting a string of incantations, focusing on the light above Harry's body.

"It's going as planned. His mind is shutting down. The magic is stable."

Harry did the only thing he could do in this situation. He retreated inside his mind, searching for that feeling that sometimes warned him when he was in danger. He never practiced it much, knowing that the voice inside his head could be dangerous, a sign that something was wrong with him.

"The body will survive?" their leader asked, gazing at the light, assessing the data.

"Yes, so far the potion is separating his soul from his magical core. No anomalies," the Auror droned, sounding clinical.

What? How could a potion do that?

Harry could barely hear them. The comforting darkness inside him lulled him to sleep, enticing him to come closer. He couldn't resist.

"50%, 60%, 63%." Everyone was staring at the light, but Harry didn't notice anything, too tired to care.

"Harry."

Hm? Someone was calling him.

His right hand twitched and his scar started to burn, the only sensation he could feel that was overpowering the numbness.

"Let me take control."

What?

The voice was low, pleasant and it sounded familiar. Harry smiled.

"71%."

So close.

Harry reached out, his mind brushing against the odd yet incredibly warm force inside his mind.

"Yes," the voice crooned, its shapeless form coming in contact with Harry's weakening awareness.

"89%," the young Auror repeated, touching Harry's hand, as if to check his pulse.

The others began to cheer, watching as the potion was slowly turning Harry's skin black. His arm was covered in dark spots.

"Let me take control. Say yes."

I-

"Say yes."

"97%."

Why the hell not?

He didn't have anything to lose at this point. Harry didn't want to die like this. Not like this. It would be pathetic. Boy-Who-Lived caught in a trap and killed by a potion.

So embarrassing. Voldemort would laugh himself to death.

Harry's smile widened and his mind merged with the foreign being, fully accepting it for the first time.

"Yes," he said, his voice loud and clear. The manacles broke with the force of combined wandless magic.

His hand moved quickly, gripping the young Auror's arm, before he could even react.

"What is going on?" the leader shouted. Above Harry, the light had suddenly vanished, leaving nothing but shiny dust behind. The Aurors immediately reacted, but Harry, without knowing what to do, brought the young wizard forward, pushing him until he was right above him. Spells hit an invisible shield and everyone had to take cover as the curses rebounded.

Harry's left hand reached out, touching the man's neck. He looked so young and vulnerable, barely out of school. Harry didn't know what he was doing, but he wasn't in control anymore.

The potion did its part, though. It removed something else entirely. It wasn't his soul that was damaged in the process.

His mouth opened and dark magic began to pour out of his eyes, his mouth and more importantly, his scar.

It was incredibly strong, a massive force that left his body and began to enter the boy's unprotected soul, driving it out with an ease that shouldn't be possible. It was like watching a Dementor in reverse and his Rowan wand hummed in recognition, feeling the soul magic as strongly as every other wizard in the room could.

Something snapped inside him and a tiny bit of darkness remained with Harry, compelling him to get up.

Screams could be heard, spells remained useless and the boy died.

And he didn't.

The darkness swirling around his empty vessel disappeared, the closest living being becoming a container for someone else. And for a moment there was only silence. The association members watched in horrified fascination as one of their own straightened his back.

Harry struggled to regain his senses, but he felt lighter, a bit more powerful than before. It was an alien feeling.

The other boy's hand moved on instinct and Harry's Holly wand was quickly retrieved from one of the Aurors, a wandless Accio that broke through wards and spells to protect it from being taken.

"Hm, this one works surprisingly well," a low voice murmured and Harry recognized it immediately. It was the same one that had been protecting him all this time.

"What is the meaning of this? What is going on?" the leader shouted. He would suffer the consequences of failing and Harry guessed his master wouldn't be pleased at all.

"You talk too much," the young man, boy whispered.

And then he began to move, using Harry's wand to slaughter them all.

Harry was being protected by a shield and he could only watch, horror and confusion taking a hold of him, as the unknown boy killed his own comrades.

The movements were fluid, his battle instincts impressive without a doubt. And strangely familiar.

People tried to get to him, but this boy didn't even need to do much. It took a couple of minutes to take them out, to make the screams stop. Bodies fell to the ground, one after another.

And then there was silence again.

Harry didn't know what to do now. He took out his Rowan wand, pointing it at the stranger, but something was telling him that it wouldn't be necessary. Blood stained the boy's Auror robes and he quickly got rid of the dirt, grimacing in disgust.

"We need to get out of here," the boy said, turning around to look at him. The boy's eyes were somehow sharper, a hidden depth to it that didn't really belong there at all.

"What happened? And who are you?" he asked, sitting up and trying to ignore the faint, black spots that were still covering his arm. They were slowly disappearing, but the cut needed to be healed as soon as possible. He felt nauseous.

"You know who I am, Harry." The boy smiled pleasantly, stepping forward and holding up a pale hand. He helped him up and Harry was reluctant to let go of the hand. It was a feeling he didn't want to examine.

"I really don't. Sorry if I'm too tired to play guessing games with you," he snapped, irritated.

The boy smirked. "Understandable. Though I suppose it's my mistake. For a moment, I thought you were intelligent enough to understand what happened." The boy stepped away from him and waved Harry's wand to open the door.

"My Other Self will be so disappointed," he mocked and Harry had enough. He picked up the broken vial, careful not to touch the stains. Someone would need to examine this potion.

His savior watched him through half-lidded eyes. "You know, this wand could be my own. Ollivander said something about brother wands, correct?"

Harry's eyes widened.

No.

It couldn't be.

It wasn't possible.

"You-," he voiced, completely shocked.

The boy cocked his head to one side, taking in Harry's features with veiled interest. "My name is Tom Riddle. But I guess we already know each other."


	24. My Soul and Yours

Something important had gone missing, forever lost and replaced with a numbness that was unlike anything he'd ever felt before.

His magic was still recovering, simultaneously mending any damage that had been inflicted upon Harry's soul and regaining its strength. But it was a slow process and he felt slightly disorientated. As if he was undergoing an out of body experience. And being reborn.

Everything felt different...

Cleaner somehow. Clearer.

To think that a simple potion almost managed to kill him.

Harry breathed heavily, staring at the young man who had declared to be Lord Voldemort in person.

It couldn't be. It just wasn't feasible. Magic had its limits, even soul magic. And there was no such thing as potions that could rip out your soul from your body.

But of course these people would come up with something like that. They acted as if they were doing a scientific revolution, instead of committing any crimes. Though, he still wasn't sure what their endgame was. And who their leader was. All he knew was that they wanted Voldemort dead. And Harry's magic was the key to make it happen.

He knew that he was in deep trouble. If these people possessed weapons that could steal someone's magic or destroy a wizard's soul, then it wasn't surprising that Voldemort's priority was to annihilate them, before they could get to him.

Still, what he experienced shouldn't be possible.

With a sickening clarity he turned towards the young man who was still patiently waiting for Harry.

"Are you coming or not?" Riddle asked, his fingers gliding over Harry's wand.

Harry examined the boy closely.

The mannerisms, the fighting technique, that was all Voldemort. He'd known that as soon as the other boy lifted his wand. But the boy in front of him looked nothing like Riddle, not even like his younger self from Dumbledore's memories. It meant Harry was either dealing with someone who was possessed or...

No, the alternative was too horrifying to consider.

As if sensing what Harry was thinking, the boy's gaze sharpened, amusement flickering in his eyes.

"I'm not going anywhere, especially not with someone who claims to be the Dark Lord," Harry said, shaking off the numbness in his limbs. "Besides, I still need to clean up your mess." He stared pointedly at the remains of the association.

None of them had been very good fighters. Deprived scientists maybe. But certainly nothing that Aurors couldn't handle.

Riddle's smirk widened and he inclined his head, before turning around to inspect the corridors, absentmindedly murmuring 'Incendio'.

Harry watched as the fire began to turn Riddle's victim's into ashes and dust, leaving no evidence behind.

His partner in crime returned and murmured another incantation, which would erase their magical signatures. Harry recognized it immediately, remembering Karkaroff who had done the same back when they had first met.

It was eerie and slightly disturbing how easily Riddle could bend magic to his will, using Harry's wand as if it was his own, seemingly without any trouble at all.

Harry stepped forward, quickly reaching the other, his shoulders brushing against the boy's chest as he passed him. Glancing around, he immediately noticed the lack of Ministry personnel.

At this time, the building should've been packed with Aurors, foreign guests and politicians. But no one was there. No alarms went off. Nothing.

Upon arriving, he'd noticed that few people had been present inside the main hall and even less in the corridors. Now he guessed that the association had taken full control of the Ministry, which probably meant they would ambush them at some point. There wasn't much time to plan how to get out of here.

"Follow me," Harry said, heading for the main hall. He wasn't going anywhere with Riddle. But that didn't mean he couldn't attempt to control this situation in his own way.

"I don't recall agreeing to let you take charge, Potter," Riddle said lightly, but he joined him anyway. The arrogant bastard almost made it seem as if it was his decision.

"Please do me a favor and shut up!" Harry spat, trying to ignore him. It wasn't easy. He was irritated, tired, recovering from a near-death experience. He didn't have time for overbearing Dark Lords.

In any case, they had a lot to talk about, but that would have to wait. At the moment he didn't trust the other boy at all. And how could he? The implications of his appearance were too much to grasp properly.

"You always had a nasty temper," Riddle mused, his long strides making it difficult for Harry to keep up. The boy was maneuvering the stolen body as if it was his own.

Harry didn't rise to the bait, too distracted to engage in a verbal sparring match with him. His entire being was thrumming with nervous energy as he continued to inspect his surroundings. They could be attacked at any point and he still didn't feel ready for a proper fight, not with his magic still so out of it. He would be hopelessly crushed.

And relying on Riddle or whoever this boy was, was simply not an option.

They muffled the sound of their steps and Harry risked a glance sideways, noticing that despite Riddle's outward lack of concern, the other was fully alert and prepared, if the grip on Harry's wand was anything to go by. They weren't safe and his nemesis knew that.

It was too quiet.

They turned the corner and reached the main hall. To his surprise, there were people mingling around, unconcerned with anything that was happening inside the building. But then it must have been maybe half an hour since his arrival at the Ministry of Magic. Civilians and low level Bulgarian politicians talked in low voices or went about their business. People acted as if their ministry wasn't under foreign control.

"I don't like this," Harry mumbled, quickly using his Rowan wand to cast a charm to remain undetected, hoping that both of his wands wouldn't be traced back with such low level spells. His own magic rose sharply, almost out of control. But it obeyed eventually and Harry could've sighed in relief.

Behind him, Riddle cast an unknown spell, something nasty probably. Certainly nothing low level. If Harry had any doubts about the boy's identity, those thoughts shattered into pieces with the amount of magic that suddenly began to surround them. Protecting them both.

It was incredibly familiar, tinged only perhaps with the residue of his victim's life force. But everything else screamed Voldemort, making Harry feel even more breathless.

To think that this thing had lived inside him, was aware of every secret Harry held close to his heart...

Harry clamped down on his thoughts, pushing past his panic to focus on the present. They observed the crowd and Harry wondered if they could simply march out of the building without any interferences. It certainly didn't look like an entire army of association followers was waiting for them.

But one could never know. Paranoia was a useful friend.

"They didn't expect you to come out of this alive," Riddle said suddenly, breaking through the panicked fog inside Harry's head. He narrowed his eyes in return.

"Certainly, their plan to get to you under the guise of a formal hearing was poorly executed. They could've kidnapped you without resorting to such methods."

"I knew there was something odd about it," Harry confessed and Riddle smiled knowingly.

"And you still decided to come. How very Gryffindor of you," he replied, taking on a patronizing tone.

"Well forgive me, my Lord," Harry snarled. "I prefer to tackle my problems head-on instead of waiting for the end like a bloody coward." He would be damned if he listened to more lectures from the likes of Tom Riddle.

The other boy simply continued to watch him.

"I know," was all he said, making Harry grit his teeth.

"In any case," Riddle went on, swiftly moving to the side to take a closer look at the crowd. "I strongly suspect we are dealing with various groups of people who are targeting you. It's quite similar to how a bounty hunter would act."

Harry frowned, surprised that Riddle was sharing his thoughts so freely. "You mean they act independently?"

Riddle shook his head, still gazing ahead. "No, they simply make a sport out of hunting you down. You might remember the two wizards who followed you inside the café."

Harry nodded slowly, thinking over his words. If what Riddle was saying was true, then their leader must've ordered his followers to capture him for a price. That's why so many different association followers were targeting him in different ways, either by stalking him or by luring him into a trap such as this one.

At this point, he was sure more would follow. And from what he guessed, their primary objective was to steal his magical core. Or even his soul.

But for what? And why bother giving him the Rowan wand, if he still ended up dead?

He glanced down, gripping his wand tightly. The magic hummed in response, heightening his suspicion. Was his magical core being affected by the wand? Or maybe his soul? Was it changing him in some way?

He'd been trying for so long to control this bloody thing, never considering the fact that it might have possibly controlled him from the moment the wandmakers entrusted him with this particular weapon.

And there was another oddity to it.

Every single wand in the set of failed experiments could be broken and mended by means of the Elder Wand. His own however couldn't be snapped, making it stand out from the rest.

One thing was quite clear, though. He needed to find the Elder Wand as soon as possible. Only the original one could uncover the secrets that were plaguing his mind.

"I suggest we return to your manor," Riddle murmured, moving forward.

* * *

Apparating was a useful skill. And he vowed he would start learning it soon, consequences of underage Apparition be damned. He wouldn't depend on Riddle or other people to move him around Europe.

Harry was back home, inside the Potions lab searching his notes for everything he'd discovered so far about his Rowan wand. Behind him Riddle was leaning against the doorframe, staring at the cauldrons and vials with an air of boredom.

Harry was tempted to throw the boy out. And wasn't that just the height of utter stupidity?

It was one thing to realize that he had an alternate version of Voldemort running around now.

But inviting him to his house just spelled disaster. Unfortunately, there wasn't anything he could control about this situation, well aware that if his suspicions were right, this person would know every single thing about him; his secrets, his desires, his fears. Everything.

Playing along for now was the only option Harry had left. Keeping your enemies closer and all that. Still, the sight of the unknown boy with the oh so familiar magic was disconcerting at best.

They had escaped the ministry unharmed and with not a lick of evidence left behind. However, that didn't mean the enemy was unaware of their every step. With Riddle 2.0 in the picture things would certainly become more interesting, though.

Harry found his notes under a stack of parchment. They were detailing the properties of his wand.

He breathed out slowly, closing his eyes. Just for a moment. A moment he desperately needed. To calm down.

With a quick wave of his hand, the table cleared out and Harry carefully retrieved the remains of the potion from his pocket. He had no desire to experience its effects for a second time, which is why he used a simple cloth to prevent his fingers from accidentally touching the substance inside the broken vial.

There wasn't much left of it.

"Make yourself useful," Harry said, pointing at the cauldron in the right corner.

"Excuse me?" Riddle crossed his arms, watching him in disdain. Quickly leaving his spot, he moved forward, forcefully pushing Harry aside. "Your deficient potion skills would only ruin the end result."

Harry threw up his hands. "Fine. Do it yourself, genius," he grouched, keeping his distance. Another startling thought came to him after a moment. Riddle's touch hadn't hurt him at all.

Why?

Riddle summoned the cauldron wandlessly and proceeded to use a stasis charm on the broken vial. With a quick look at Harry's notes, he began to uncork another vial from the emergency stash, pouring the contents inside and setting up a low fire.

Harry watched the proceedings dispassionately, slightly uneasy that another Voldemort was currently messing with his stuff. But he had to admit that Riddle's potion making skills were flawless, almost instinctual. He moved quickly, pouring ingredient after ingredient inside the bubbling substance and timing it correctly.

"Make yourself useful," Riddle suddenly parroted back without looking at him. Fuck, this bastard really was Voldemort. Nobody had that much of an ego. Nevertheless, Harry complied, reaching out for the powdered graphorn horn. He began to stir the contents counter-clockwise.

On accident his hands grazed Tom's and he flinched, feeling odd. It wasn't pain, though. It was simply odd. Not a welcoming sensation.

He didn't notice the way Riddle glanced at him for a moment.

The fumes were making him grimace, but Harry pushed his exhaustion down, carefully following Riddle's movements to see if he wasn't doing anything out of the ordinary.

"What a talented young man we have here," a voice suddenly interrupted and Harry looked up, sighing when he noticed his ancestor Augusta Potter making herself more comfortable inside the portrait. She was staring at Riddle with something akin to fascination. Bloody hell.

"Mrs. Potter, I presume?" Riddle replied calmly, smiling in that charming way of his and manipulating his borrowed features with frightening ease. The effect was instantaneous. Augusta blushed, waving him off.

"None of that Mrs. Potter nonsense, boy. Call me Augusta." She was batting her eyelashes and Harry felt the urge to punch something. Or incinerate nosy portraits. Seriously, Riddle's new body wasn't even close in looks to his real one, certainly not as handsome. But somehow he was effortlessly wrapping her around his finger.

"Tom Riddle, at your service," he replied and Harry observed with sudden delight how the old woman paled, before setting her sights on Harry. "What's the meaning of this?"

Harry scratched the back of his neck. "Believe me, it's a long story."

Riddle just smirked, before returning to work on their potion.

They continued working in silence, occasionally getting interrupted by Augusta. After another hour of gruesome stirring and adjusting the flames, Riddle picked up the broken vial and carefully mixed both potions together.

The effect was instantaneous and the bubbling liquid turned pale green.

Harry stared.

"That's impossible."

Beside him, Riddle frowned and reached for the parchment with Harry's calculations. Harry knew the numbers by heart. He knew what it would show.

He just wasn't prepared for it.

"It appears your wand works in the same way as this potion. The difference is that the potion facilitates the process."

Harry stumbled backwards, removing his wand in the process. It dropped to the ground, appearing utterly harmless. But he continued to stare at it as if it would suddenly strangle him to death.

"It's not-, it can't be!" he voiced, panicked. He'd been getting stronger by using this wand. Not weaker. He'd done so much Dark magic at school. There was no way, no way this wand was...

"Evidently, your wand was designed to rip out your magic from your body. The question is what do they want with it?" Riddle said, as if talking about the weather. None of this seemed to affect him at all, even though it was Harry's life that was on the line here.

"Wands don't work like that!" Augusta replied, getting agitated. "And neither do potions. You cannot rip out a wizard's magical core from his body by artificial means."

Riddle ignored her completely, his hard gaze fixed on Harry's pale features. With a quick wave of the holly wand, the contents of the potion were frozen and the mess was vanished, leaving nothing but parchments behind. The taller wizard took a seat, crossing his legs and appearing utterly calm. But his next statement made Harry want to run out and never come back.

"What do you know of soul magic, Potter?" he asked, tilting his head to the side. Lips curled up in mock amusement. "Very little, from what I observed."

Harry stiffened and without another look at the boy, he walked out of the lab, leaving his poisonous wand on the floor. Riddle followed him after a while, ignoring the sputtering of Harry's ancestor.

* * *

They were in the main office of Potter manor and Harry was currently pouring over the book Dolohov had given him as a gift. And for a good reason.

An entire chapter was dedicated to the association, although they had been named differently at the time this book had been published. Something about  _Antioch's Unsullied._

How Filipp of all people managed to get his grubby hands on that priceless book was anyone's guess.

It was just another proof that their conception was based around the legend of the Deathly Hallows. Of course, nothing was said about the Hallows or Elder wands, but Harry inferred from the vague descriptions that their respective leaders had always been a bit obsessed with everything that was related to the Peverell brothers.

"Libby," Harry suddenly called. The house-elf appeared and Harry quickly asked for a Pensieve, hoping that his theories would finally turn out to be correct.

Tom was currently seated near the fireplace, barely paying attention to Harry's antics as he continued to read another book on soul magic, one of the rare tomes from the manor's library, which Harry had grudgingly given access to.

His Pensieve was carefully positioned and without further ado Harry pulled out several memories in quick succession, plunging his head into the swirling substance right after.

He was standing in front of Gregorovitch. The old man was gleefully informing him of the things he could do with his creations.

_"The wand's properties can be tampered with. We simply coax the magical items into behaving the way we want them to. But mostly, the properties act of their own accord. All it took was Rowan, the celtic symbol of healing and divine protection, and a Dementor who had no wish to ally itself with the Dark Lord."_

Harry listened closely.

_"The wand was designed for the Dark Lord, but it rejected him -as planned- and found itself in your hands. Carolina worked on that outcome and took measures to ensure that no one would be able to get rid of it, especially not the one who was chosen. But you're welcome to try."_

Another memory, another piece of the puzzle. Harry found himself rereading Hepzibah's entry.

_"Women and men alike disappear these days, respectable wizards and witches of notorious background, people whose reputations eclipse that of the common man. Of course, someone of my standing might be targeted, which is why I have taken measures to pass on my knowledge, should anything befall me."_

The next one came right after. Augusta Potter's eyes locked with Harry's.

_"The material she used is unusual. True. These wands can act like living, conscious beings, more than standard wands do. But they are not all powerful and even if that Karkaroff person thinks they can help defeat the current Dark Lord, I honestly do not see how."_

A bunker. Voldemort's magic caressing his senses, his stare unyielding. Harry frozen in place. A passion beyond normal.

_"Both, of course. The reason the wandmakers entrusted you with their work is because they needed to prove that you were the one able to handle that kind of magic." Bright crimson eyes looked at him, musing. "And you did. My equal, indeed." Voldemort smiled, drawing closer._

_"The failed experiments are much more than mere imitations of something I desire. They stand for all the wizards and witches in this society that were being used against me at one time or another."_

Another memory, Ollivander's last words of advice.

_"Before you go, I'd like to warn you, though." Garrick paused, thinking over his next words. "The fake Elder Wands. Find a way to dispose of them. It's better to let Carolina's legacy perish with her, for your own safety."_

The last memory.

_The letters spelled out ominous words and he pushed forward, reaching Dumbledore's side to take a closer look._

_Slowly they formed a phrase._

_For the Greater Good._

Harry emerged from his own thoughts and memories, eyes glazed. He could hear the faint sound of a clock ticking, pages being turned and the crackling of logs from the fireplace. Something dislodged that numbness inside him and for a second he felt dizzy. His palms were sweaty.

He looked up, barely registering Riddle's intense stare, as his mind reassembled the pieces and came to the only conclusion that made sense.

It was pretty clear that this group wasn't just after Dark Lords in general, but after people who made an imprint on history. The famous, the wealthy, the ingenious that contributed to the wizarding world in significant ways. Harry had known that. He'd also known about Grindelwald and had voiced his suspicions during his meeting with Minister Farnes. Anyone who posed at threat was on their list. Either as people who could be allies. Or enemies that needed to be destroyed.

Harry knew that he was something in between. He couldn't be turned into an ally, but he was also essential to destroy an enemy. As the prophecy dictated. The prophecy that these people had been so interested in.

It only made sense that they would attempt to turn him into a weapon of their own making. And Grindelwald was playing a part in this.

"How are you feeling?" Riddle suddenly asked, and it was so unexpected, so completely out of turn that Harry wondered if he wasn't just dealing with an ordinary boy instead of a Dark Lord.

"I can't imagine feeling good after someone attempts to rip out your magic from your body," he said dryly.

The other boy chuckled, closing the book. He beckoned Harry to come closer.

"Indeed. Though, I think they couldn't possibly know that your body was housing more than one soul at that time."

Harry bit his lip, suddenly eager to turn this around.

"Good to know. How about  _you_  tell me exactly what you are? And how you managed to do...that?" Harry asked, pointing at the boy's new body. It was time to get more answers; even though it would probably shatter whatever illusion he held about his connection to Lord Voldemort.

"I already gave you all the clues you need, Harry," Riddle replied offhandedly. "You should be able to figure out the rest."

He leaned against Riddle's seat and glanced at the other boy cooly. A hand reached out, taking hold of Harry's arm. The contact was not unpleasant, but once again Harry felt the sudden urge to flee for whatever reason.

"It doesn't hurt," he whispered. The hand tightened its hold and Harry held still. On instinct.

"Curious, isn't it? Your soul was so eager to accept mine. So willing to house a part of Lord Voldemort."

Harry flinched, avoiding Riddle's stare. "I wasn't eager. It was an accident."

It sounded like a feeble excuse, even to his own ears. Riddle dismissed the comment entirely.

"You are a soul piece," Harry threw in and for a moment he saw the boy's eyes narrow, before turning expressionless again.

"The prophecy. Neither can live while the other survives," Harry went on. He wanted to shatter that mask. He wanted to see Voldemort staring out of those empty, dead and entirely unfamiliar eyes. Something that would make him react, finally breaking this twisted, abnormal tranquility between them. Lord Voldemort and Harry Potter were never meant to be like this. They were never supposed to talk to each other like that. If there was a constant in his fucked up life, it was Voldemort, murderous, mad and so very antagonistic. Harry needed it back.

He smiled. "The night your counterpart killed my parents. Your soul attached itself to mine?" He couldn't help but chuckle, despite feeling angry. It was so bizarre. "Of course it did. Voldemort did something to ensure he wouldn't die and the only thing that would explain this, whatever this is between us, is soul magic."

"As I said, your research into soul magic is insufficient," Riddle said, unimpressed. Yet his grip on Harry was relentless.

"Fine. Then tell me, how did I survive the killing curse in the first place? Dumbledore believes my mother-"

Riddle scoffed. "Your mother's protection had little to do with what happened that night. In fact, the old fool wants you to believe that you had nothing to do with it. That you were merely a victim of circumstances. But it isn't that easy, Potter."

"No, it isn't," Harry murmured, leaning forward. "But if you start babbling about soul mates or anything like that, I'm gonna be sick."

"Don't be an idiot," the other boy hissed, disdain evident. He let go of Harry as if burned. "Why do you think you are so strong at wandless magic in the first place?"

Harry went rigid and Riddle suddenly laughed. It was patronizing and so very like Voldemort's cold laugh. It almost made Harry sigh in relief. "You don't know." He leaned forward as well, deliberately reducing the meager distance between them.

"Let me enlighten you, Potter. You toss away your magic as if it means nothing. But your little Durmstrang friends were right. They were right about your magic the night it acted up on Samhain. Have you ever wondered why it was so easy for you to resist dark magic addiction at the time Black was forcing you to practice more curses? You were the only one unaffected."

Harry's silence gave him the answer.

"And your Rowan wand. Yes, your precious weapon. Funny, isn't it? It has a mind of its own and would usually overpower you, if you weren't strong enough to resist its effects. But you were. And that makes all the difference. And that's also why your enemies are so interested in getting to you as quickly as possible. Now imagine what you could do if you had the Elder Wand in your possession? What they could do with your magic  _and_  the wand?"

Harry slumped against Riddle's seat, almost falling forward. Merlin.

He gripped the armrests, just needing something to hold onto. "That's why they used this potion instead. Because my abilities got out of control, because it was taking too long to weaken me. To steal my magic."

Riddle nodded, pleased. "And because my own magic was helping you out at that time. Of course, they didn't know that." Harry frowned. Just how much had Riddle's soul piece influenced him in his life? The thought alone was scary.

"How can you have your own magic and how could you possibly survive inside another body?"

For the first time perhaps, Harry noticed that Riddle was actively ignoring the question, which made the younger boy even more suspicious. What was this soul magic that could be so powerful as to ensure someone wouldn't die?

"Did you never notice your scar?" the other suddenly asked. "How it pained you to be near my counterpart, how it acted up at the most inconvenient times?

His hands brushed against Harry's.

Harry was still gripping the armrests tightly, but he didn't move away. Didn't want to. "I was protecting you, Potter. Communicating with you."

The silence between them suddenly felt restricting, even sickening and Harry quickly averted his gaze, unable to meet the other boy's stare.

It was too much.

"Why now? Why not earlier?" he whispered and he couldn't help it. A sliver of desperation broke through. Those loathsome thoughts, his pitiful memories returned with a vengeance.

Obviously Riddle must've known what Harry was talking about, but he didn't humiliate him further. Perhaps, the thought alone that they both knew Harry's darkest moments was humiliating enough.

"I wasn't able to help you out when you still lived in the Muggle world, since most of your untrained magic was working on keeping our souls separate. The day you entered the wizarding world you came in contact with foreign magic for the first time. You grew stronger and in turn it made me stronger."

Harry looked past Riddle's shoulder, lost in thought. "But if what you're saying is true, I still wouldn't be able to survive the killing curse, no matter how strong I was as a baby. Take Dumbledore or even your other self, for example." He paused, suddenly painfully aware that he would be complimenting his nemesis. "You both have infinite sources of magic and I don't see you dodging killing curses as if it means nothing. Something is wrong with me."

Then, without warning, fingers curled around the strands of his hair and Harry was yanked forward, forced to look at Riddle. "Wrong?" Riddle laughed again, derisively. "You are an anomaly, Harry Potter. An anomaly Dumbledore and many others wish to control."

"Like yourself, maybe?" Harry snarled, struggling to get away. "Let go of me."

He was this close to using one of the techniques he'd learned during Auror training, but Riddle knew all about that as well. The bastard.

"Think Potter. Think. Why is he so blasé about your current situation? Why isn't he trying to train you himself, taking you under his wing if you are the boy of the prophecy? The one destined to kill me?"

No.

Harry met Riddle's unforgiving eyes and felt fear and terror grip his insides.

No.

Something must've shown on his face, because the other boy quickly maneuvered Harry's body around, so that it would partially be on top of him. Hell, he was practically sitting in Riddle's lap.

"You were the means to an end, nothing more." Riddle patted his cheek, as if to comfort him. It was insulting. "If people knew that the only way to destroy my counterpart was to kill you, they wouldn't hesitate for even a second."

"You're lying," Harry spat, but deep down...

Deep down he knew. He'd known since the moment he stepped inside Dumbledore's office. And now he didn't know if he wanted to cry or laugh hysterically, because this was simply too much.

"Why are you telling me this? Why aren't you taking me straight to your master soul? He'd want to know."

Riddle's expression closed off.

And something clicked inside him. Harry laughed, the sound harsh and cruel. "You can't leave. The link. You left a part of yourself behind, which is why I can still feel you and your magic." Harry reached out, boldly grabbing Riddle's chin, completely ignoring the tight grip on his hair. Dark eyes narrowed at him, but Harry continued examining the soul piece, delighted that this was all Voldemort staring back at him.

"Souls aren't meant to change their human containers, Potter," Riddle said quietly, obviously unwilling to disclose this. "They can come back to life with a human sacrifice, but only if they are tied to an object, not a person. But your case is quite different. Your soul isn't willing to give up mine and my own is tightly entwined with yours. Therefore I can't leave."

"What?" Harry gaped at him. His own soul didn't  _want_  to let go?

"It would have taken me months to influence this pitiful boy in order to get access to his life force and body. But with our combined magic and the potion, which loosed the hold on our souls, I could do it in a second," Riddle hissed and now his grip was turning painful. "But I still couldn't kill or possess you. Believe me, I tried for years. You resisted. Again and again." Suddenly, he let go of Harry, shaking his head. "I assume your mudblood mother's protection still lingers inside you. You draw on her enchantments, her love, blood magic of the worst sort," he spat out the words, disgusted.

Harry was tempted to punch him.

"How can I make you leave?" he asked instead. Given the fact Riddle wasn't leaving right now or taking him to Voldemort, it could only mean one thing.

Riddle smiled. "You think I will tell you how to get rid of me?"

"No, I already know." Harry grinned. His fingers were gliding over Riddle's skin until he reached the boy's throat. It was so tempting, choking him to death. "Your counterpart needs to kill me. I need to die."

They looked at each other, reaching a stalemate. But Riddle's silence was all the confirmation he needed. Harry would have to die, no matter what. There was no other way to get rid of the piece inside him without damaging them both in the process. And because he was essentially the key to Riddle's survival, the other one would do absolutely everything in his power to ensure that they both got through this.

The prophecy was correct. Neither could live while the other survived. What kind of life was that anyway? For the both of them to be tied to each other just to survive? It was Riddle who preferred the idea of mere survival over the idea of living his life, after all. And so he was cursing them both.

Harry finally stood, returning back to his own seat. He felt shaken, delirious. But with that came a newfound sense of strength, because he knew what he was dealing with now.

"So you are on my side?" he asked, not looking at him.

"Am I?" Riddle mocked, steepling his fingers. Harry wasn't buying it.

"I'm not taking you to Voldemort. Merlin knows what he'll do to us, if he finds out," Harry said, suddenly imagining various scenarios that included a lab and soul experiments. Perhaps even an evil cackle.

"If you are concerned about me disclosing your petty secrets, it should be the least of your worries, Potter."

"Petty?" Harry narrowed his eyes. "I didn't tell him I can speak Parseltongue. Thanks to you, apparently. I also withheld information about the Elder Wand-"

Riddle held up a hand, interrupting him. "You also plan on revealing my true identity to the public. Amusing, really. I wish I could kill you," he said, gazing cooly at him.

"Yes, I get that." Harry's smile was mocking. He loved riling up this version of Voldemort. It was so much easier. "Now if you are quite done fantasizing about my demise, we can talk about more important things."

Riddle continued gazing at him in silence, affecting boredom. Harry wasn't too bothered by it, though. He knew the other boy was merely using masks, pretending that he didn't care what Harry had to say.

"I'm going back to Durmstrang next week. Since you can't leave, I need to take you with me. Now if you value your sanity, or what is left of it, you won't cause problems, alright?"

"Concerned about your little followers?" the dark wizard asked, lips curled up in amusement.

Harry rolled his eyes. "They aren't my followers."

"Ah yes," Riddle replied. "Your friends, correct? Pity you didn't listen to your werewolf when he warned you what would happen if you let down your guard. What is your friend's name again? Krum?"

"Shut up!" Harry hissed, not wanting to hear this. What happened between him and Krum was their business. His betrayal stung, but Harry wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. Riddle had no right judging Harry for any of this.

Evidently, that wasn't enough for him, though. Suddenly, Riddle left his seat, quickly moving forward and bending low, invading Harry's personal space.

"I can sense what you are thinking, Harry Potter. But let me tell you this," he said. "You might think your little friend was coerced into this. That he was not willingly giving up information and lulling you into a false sense of security just by being at the ministry."

Harry froze, not able to look away.

"People like that, they don't deserve second thoughts. Or forgiveness."

"You're wrong," Harry replied, pale with anger. But Riddle smiled, looking at him as if he were a small, naive child.

"The boy chose someone else over you. Coerced or not. You were not his priority in that moment."

"So what? Are you telling me I shouldn't trust people? Or that I should only trust you, because apparently I am your priority?" he jeered.

Fuck Tom Riddle and his bloody manipulations. Why should he listen to his lies, his twisted ideas of loyalty? Harry got up, but a hand on his shoulder prevented him from moving away.

Gentle words were whispered in his ear, the promises unexpected. "I am the only one who knows  _everything_  about you. There's not a single person in this world who will get as close to you as I did. So yes, given the circumstances, that makes you my priority."

Harry stiffened. The words felt like a threat. And that's what made him turn around and give Riddle a bitter smile in return.

"No, you're wrong." Shaking off the restricting hand, he took a few steps away from him. "You wouldn't prioritize my wellbeing either, Tom. You only know how to put yourself first."

With that, Harry left the room, the memory of Riddle's touch making him feel cold. And so very alone.


	25. Lost Friends, Bound Enemies

What can you do when you have another version of your greatest enemy following you around? What do you do with someone who knows every little secret of yours, even your darkest thoughts and plans for the future; and using it shamelessly to his advantage?

It was the worst thing that could've happened to Harry, given the circumstances. But there was nothing he could do about it now. Well, at least until he figured out how to sever his ties with Tom Riddle permanently.

And that was nearly impossible, wasn't it? If Riddle didn't manage to do it, then how could Harry?

He'd worked so hard to have a relatively Voldemort-free life at Durmstrang and now all his efforts had gone to waste. None of his schemes at Durmstrang, his training with the Aurors, even his shaky alliances with Norway's top seemed to matter anymore. In fact, he felt like a helpless child again, with no control over the situation. Having Death Eaters or their traitors at his school was nothing in comparison to the real deal after all. And somehow, this Riddle was so much more terrifying to deal with, especially with the amount of intimate knowledge he held over Harry's head.

Harry stared at the boy in front of him, his intent gaze never leaving Riddle's form as they sat together in one of the carriages that was taking them back to school. He was alone with the other boy. No Krum. No Dolohov to distract Harry from his own anxious thoughts. No friends that could help him out in this situation. It was pure madness.

No, he'd have to figure it out all by himself, as usual. This was soul magic of the most complicated sort, after all. A type of magic that shouldn't even be possible. Their case was unprecedented, not normal by any standards, which is why he couldn't simply find a book in order to solve his problem. One just didn't split his soul and attach it to a living, breathing human being by accident. Such accidents went against every law, every logic that governed even the darkest forms of magic in existence. He knew that. Durmstrang had hammered that lesson into his brain since day one.

But this was something else entirely.

Horcrux.

That was the term for it, although Harry could've never imagined that it would be possible to actually create such a thing. But Voldemort did and the prophecy only sealed Harry's fate, overcomplicating matters even more. On top of that, Dumbledore had withheld information for the sake of keeping Harry as ignorant as possible. A tragedy in the making. That's what the headmaster engineered since the moment Harry had lost his parents.

His own fate. Insignificant in the eyes of the most powerful people in this war. He'd known that for a long time now.

It's why that bitterness and anger almost swallowed him up after his talk with Riddle, before he managed to get out of his self-induced pity party to actually do some research.

Harry swallowed, averting his eyes from his stoic companion.

Tom didn't know Harry had researched Horcruxes behind his back after their talk, in the safety of his office at Potter manor. One copy of the book  _Magick Moste Evile,_ written by Godelot of all people, had hinted at Horcruxes, describing them as soul pieces. Not much was said beyond that, but Harry had been amused nonetheless, knowing that Godelot had at some point possessed the Elder Wand, which supposedly helped the man in his dubious research.

The last days had been grueling and the books on soul magic he acquired with the help of his ancestors made his head spin. Augusta's infinite wisdom for example had certainly been illuminating, to say the least. And she wouldn't talk to Riddle. None of his ancestors would, because they were loyal to Harry. Funny that such a light family as the Potters had no qualms about collecting information about the Dark Arts, but it was helpful in the end. Potter manor even possessed a copy of  _Secrets of the Darkest Art_  by Owle Bullock, which Harry had taken to his office as soon as he left Riddle to his own devices. Merlin knows, what the other wizard would do with such books.

Let him think that Harry hung onto his every feeble explanation regarding soul magic. It was Harry's first secret that he guarded against Riddle's inquisitive nature, well aware that the other boy had refrained from using the actual term when explaining what happened at the ministry. Even then, the bastard had talked about their link in general terms. The more important stuff, how to destroy a soul piece with Fiendfyre or basilisk venom, how to separate your soul, none of that had been mentioned.

It told him all he needed to know about Riddle's loyalties.

In a way, Harry was glad, though; satisfied that the association had inadvertently freed Riddle's tainted soul piece from Harry's body. This way, he didn't have to share his thoughts with a stranger anymore.

The only thing left to deal with was the link between them.

Harry sighed internally, his upper lip twitching in irritation. Riddle had nothing in common with Voldemort in terms of looks, but he rivaled him in deviousness and magical talent on any day. Harry would never let the bastard return to Potter manor, just for that reason alone.

Tom was holding a copy of  _The Oracle_ , a subsidiary of the Daily Prophet in his hands. His stony expression told Harry everything he needed to know. Riddle was re-reading Rita's article about the origins of You-Know-Who, which had been released earlier this morning under a pseudonym.

From this day forth, the entire wizarding community of Britain and beyond would know that the pureblood supremacist wasn't as pure as he claimed to be. And it was brilliant. From the Gaunt connection, to the poverty and madness that clung to this particular name, the Orphanage, everything was laid out for the public to see. It wasn't much, though. Nothing about Voldemort's living conditions nor his school days had been revealed. Harry had recounted what Dumbledore had given him, knowing quite well that Dumbledore still had so much more to tell about Voldemort's origins, perhaps even his research into Horcruxes, which the headmaster hadn't bothered to explain.

But Harry wouldn't go so far as to talk about Merope using a love potion on Riddle Sr. And he hadn't. Dragging bystanders into Voldemort's issues wasn't very smart and Merope Gaunt had been a desperate and immoral person, but not an evil one.

"Very clever, Potter. I'm impressed," Riddle said, sounding anything but. Folding the paper in half, he then carefully set it aside, ignoring Hedwig's annoyed hooting.

Good girl. She didn't seem to like him much.

"Glad to meet your standards," Harry replied, pushing his glasses up a bit. "I'm sure your alter ego will be delighted to hear about this."

Voldemort would be furious, of course.

Riddle merely smiled, running a hand through his hair, still keeping his eyes trained on Harry's form. "It's amusing, really," he said, his expression aloof. "He will retaliate, you know. And it won't be pretty for you."

Was that supposed to scare him? Honestly, Riddle would have to try harder than that.

"It doesn't matter," Harry drawled, waving him off. "Besides, the oath doesn't stop me from damaging his reputation. It's simply another method of keeping him in line."

Riddle chuckled darkly, his foot grazing Harry's slightly as he shifted in his seat. "You've already exhausted your blackmail material, child. I find it hard to believe you will be able to circumvent the contract, trapped as you are now to do his bidding. He's playing with you."

"And I'm using him. So where's the difference?" Harry shot back. He knew he would have to play the bait until this whole mess with the association was dealt with. But it wasn't an endless affair and given the progress Voldemort's Death Eaters made with the association every day, it wouldn't take long before an all out war broke out; at which point, Harry would be free to do whatever he wanted. It was Voldemort who was doing all the work. Not Harry.

Placing his arms behind his head, he went on. "I know what he wants me to do. And he knows that I'm aware of it." Averting his eyes, Harry briefly looked out of the window. It was a bit disconcerting, staring at this stranger and knowing that it was just a corpse he was talking to. Granted, Riddle's new form hadn't been innocent, but still.

Riddle remained silent, schooling his features. Harry took it all in and decided to be honest with him. He had a feeling that it would work better with this version of Voldemort than the original one. Though, he couldn't exactly pinpoint why that was the case.

"I'm not underestimating him, if that's what you think. But I'm also not fooling myself into believing you wouldn't retaliate either, Riddle," he said, voice sharp as he locked gazes with the other wizard again. "I know how to deal with him. But  _you_. You have your own plans. Don't think I didn't notice."

To his surprise, Riddle began to laugh, the sound chilling and high but oddly fitting for someone like him. Taken aback, Harry didn't even react to it outwardly, but he couldn't deny that Riddle's attitude was exceptionally patronizing.

"Your attempts at playing this game are quite ludicrous." Riddle smirked. "But go on. Tell me what you think."

Unfazed, Harry lowered his arms and made himself more comfortable in his seat. It was a challenge, trying to keep up with Riddle's mood swings and his wit. Admittedly, it was also quite stimulating, talking to him. He'd never met someone who could make Harry feel as if he was dealing with an equal. With adults like Karkaroff or Farnes Harry simply brushed off their efforts at controlling him. And with his peers at Durmstrang, well, he usually felt 10 years older in their presence.

He just didn't fit in. And he never would.

Of course, everything changed when he'd met and actually talked to Voldemort for the first time. Harry had felt inferior, but still rebellious enough to change the status quo. However, Tom was different, which was odd, considering the fact that this person wasn't that much younger or less powerful than the original version. After all, the soul had attached itself to Harry when Voldemort was at the height of his reign.

But Riddle acted differently, as if he actually wanted Harry to challenge him, coaxing out whatever potential he had for this 'game'. And enjoying the results, even if he claimed they were ludicrous. His actions were contradictory.

Harry grinned, inwardly hoping that he wouldn't regret meeting those challenges.

"Very well," Harry began, his hand absently smoothing down the wrinkles on his Durmstrang robe. "The link we share doesn't allow you to leave my side. We both feel pain if you do."

Riddle inclined his head. They'd both tested that theory a couple of days ago when Riddle unexpectedly attempted to Disapparate, leaving Harry behind. Needless to say, Riddle had returned, holding his head as if to hide the pain. It hadn't been necessary, because Harry had been delirious at that point, barely keeping himself from throwing up.

Normally, Harry didn't think Riddle was the type to let pain stop him from achieving his goals, but it must have been just as bad for him as it was for Harry, though the older wizard was somewhat better or more experienced at hiding it. In the end, they figured out that they -at least- had to be in the same place in order to keep the link between them from lashing out. They could be in different rooms, different parts of a building, but not in different places altogether.

Then, there was the fact that Riddle had been correct about Harry's soul being so closely entwined with Riddle's that it was impossible to separate them physically. It was the reason why the other was even following Harry back to Durmstrang.

Harry's eyes narrowed in thought. "Obviously, you wouldn't have bothered with me if that link didn't exist in the first place."

A strange expression crossed Riddle's face for a moment, before he returned to stare at him in silence. Harry had no idea what to make of it, but he went on, ignoring it for now.

"You didn't react to the article the way I thought you would." Scratching his chin, Harry leaned forward a bit, eyeing his companion in suspicion. He wondered what this was about. Voldemort would have tortured him for this. Riddle at least should have done something. "Then there's the fact you didn't Apparate us both straight to the Dark Lord's lair, although I'm sure you can guess where he is," he said lowly.

Tilting his head to the side, he observed him. "You refused to reveal yourself, which means you're bidding your time or you have plans that have nothing to do with Voldemort's at all."

Riddle's lips twitched.

"It makes me think you aren't exactly on his side," Harry concluded, watching as Riddle's eyes seemed to darken, taking on a crimson shade. "Maybe, just maybe you want to take over instead, getting rid of the competition and all that."

A pale hand shot out, gripping the collar of Harry's robe tightly and pulling him forward in a shockingly violent movement that left Harry breathless.

"You presume too much, boy," Riddle hissed, their faces mere inches apart.

"Really?" Harry mocked, ignoring the proximity, though it was extremely difficult. "I'm certain you didn't like being stuck with me for over a decade, while your other self was calling the shots." His own hand reached out, curling around Riddle's wrist. With a forceful tug, he pushed it away, sneering at the look of smug satisfaction on Riddle's face. It was obvious he was taking pleasure in Harry's discomfort.

"You don't strike me as the type who follows people easily, even if it's a version of yourself," he concluded, his eyes hard.

"Yes," Riddle admitted without emotion. "Leaving aside the fact that I'm linked to you, it's distasteful to consider abandoning my own ambitions and plans for the sake of my Other Self."

"So you do want to take over? Is that it?" Harry pushed. Nearby Hedwig hooted again, briefly distracting Harry from his staring contest with Riddle. They would be arriving soon.

"Maybe," the other wizard replied enigmatically. "Don't forget I'm his immortality, Potter. And so are you, until we destroy the link between us."

"Isn't he your immortality as well?" Harry frowned, having wondered how this whole immortality thing even worked when you split your soul. He didn't think Riddle would readily abandon his only chance at immortality just to take over. He wouldn't destroy his own soul on purpose.

"Not quite." Riddle said, lips thinning as he paused to consider how to explain it. Still, the word Horcrux hadn't been mentioned between them, but Harry could see the mounting suspicion in Riddle's cruel gaze. "He is the master soul, Potter. A soul piece is meant to tether him to the world of the living, which is why he didn't die that night he attacked you. I wasn't meant to return in human form, though. I'm merely the receptacle for his ongoing survival."

Harry stilled. Riddle made it sound like there weren't many soul pieces out there, as if  _he_  had an active part in ensuring Voldemort's survival. But he was an  _accidental_  Horcrux, not the first one. Besides, human Horcruxes weren't good enough to keep a soul grounded to this plane. Harry guessed they were too unstable as containers, especially with another soul possibly botching up the entire process. It meant the other wizard didn't want Harry to know how many Horcruxes had been made in the first place. It was too horrifying, though; thinking that Voldemort readily split his soul multiple times. Two was already bad enough. Three was complete madness. The author of Secrets of the Darkest Art had warned of the consequences, explaining how splitting your soul just once already caused irreparable damage.

Though, it kind of explained why Voldemort had already been so out of it, before attacking the Potters. The history books had certainly described him as a monstrous being, incapable of any rational thought process.

Something else made sense now as well. Voldemort's return to sanity meant that he must've done something with his Horcruxes to repair any damage, be it internal or external. For example, he looked like an older Tom Riddle and he certainly acted like the Riddle from Hogwarts, albeit with a sharper and more cruel air to him. He also made choices he wouldn't have made before that fateful night.

This time, Voldemort's priority was to get rid of the association, before attempting to kill Harry or Dumbledore. He'd said it himself. The prophecy was only secondary to his plans. Something must've changed significantly, though Harry couldn't figure out if it was his own involvement with them that made Voldemort so determined to get rid of their enemies, or if it was something else. One thing was certain, though. Voldemort was back to his most powerful state.

Harry recalled watching Dumbledore's memory of the day a Muggleborn witch had been killed at Hogwarts. The Voldemort from now was poised, confident, just as capable of charming his followers as his younger version. They were eerily similar. And so was this Tom Riddle in front of him.

But there was a crucial difference as well.

"Something you wanted to say, Potter?" Riddle asked, crossing his legs.

"No."

Harry decided to ignore him for the rest of the journey. He had his answers. Harry knew that he'd have to find out how many Horcruxes he'd have to collect to get more "blackmail" material. And finally, he needed to succeed in destroying the link between them. Failure in that was not an option.

* * *

Durmstrang, Harry thought, was a majestic sight, especially against the night's sky; an impenetrable fortress that guarded its students against enemies of every kind. The open, green field contrasted nicely with grey stone walls that sprung up from the earth.

His carriage joined the row, as students all around them were making their way to the entrance hall. Past the edge of woodland, Harry could see the shimmering wards surrounding the castle, but the most surprising sight was the small group of Norwegian Aurors patrolling the grounds.

Amongst them, Auror Rendahl was barking orders left and right, which drew the attention of several students walking past the group. Harry was wondering what the Aurors were doing here in the first place, since Durmstrang wasn't exactly under siege now that Voldemort has finally gotten what he wanted. They were acting on Farnes' orders, but he had a hard time imagining what that meant.

He was so distracted that he didn't notice a figure approaching Harry quickly. A body knocked into him and arms encircled Harry, attaching themselves to him like an octopus.

"Harry Potter," a female voice shouted in his ear, before withdrawing. Mercia Robards was looking up at him, a frown marring her face. "You didn't write. Shame on you."

Harry pried her arms away, aware of Riddle's cold stare at his back. "You've seen me at my birthday party." Riddle shot them both a brief, irritated look, before leaving their side, wordlessly joining the professors near the entrance. Seeing him go made Harry feel a bit uneasy about the situation. At Potter manor, it hadn't been difficult trying to keep an eye on the Dark Lord, but here he would have a hard time seeing past Riddle's machinations.

And that was the thing. Riddle could've kept Harry a prisoner, could have controlled and shaped him to do what  _he_  wanted, but he was letting Harry go instead, even going so far as to play along. It was just wrong, seeing him like that, acting utterly harmless.

Harry had to remind himself that the man was an expert manipulator. Whatever he had in mind, it didn't bode well for Harry's wellbeing.

"Who was that?" Mercia suddenly asked, her eyes sweeping past the masses to settle on Riddle's lean form. He was tempted to tell her the truth, but he couldn't.

"Our new Dark Arts professor." Harry turned his back, fiddling with Hedwig's cage instead. She'd been getting restless in the carriage.

As soon as she was free, his owl settled on his shoulder, briefly nipping his ear before flying off.

"Huh? Doesn't he look at bit too young for that?" Both of them joined the student body, slowly following the pathway back to the castle. Up ahead, he could see Krum's broad back. He must've spotted them both at some point, but Krum was obviously keeping his distance, which wasn't all that surprising.

"Maybe," Harry replied dryly. He wanted to laugh. Voldemort, difficult as it was to admit, was the perfect teacher for the Dark Arts.

Together they entered the main hall, ignoring their classmates as they made their way over to one of the tables reserved for third year students.

"He's moody. I don't know what's wrong with him." Mercia whispered, briefly shooting Krum a look, before taking her seat. He was ignoring them both. And so was Dolohov, as far as Harry could see. The boy had taken to sticking with his usual crowd of pureblood fanatics.

"Did you manage to talk to Filipp?" he asked. Mercia nodded, but her lips thinned, as if that particular memory hadn't been pleasant at all.

Ignoring the commotion around them, Harry raised his head, watching carefully as the new headmaster took his place at the front, ready to address the students. The man looked frail, unassuming, but that didn't tell Harry much. The wizard had been chosen by the school board and Minister Farnes, which meant nothing. He could be perfectly harmless or another idiot ready to cause trouble. Only time would tell.

"Welcome back-," a raspy voice announced and Harry tuned him out for the rest of the speech, opting to look at Riddle instead, who was conversing in low tones with the Transfigurations professor. It was an interesting sight. Irritating perhaps, but interesting to see Tom Riddle put up a mask, as he skillfully began to draw people into his sphere of influence. It looked so easy, but it was anything but. Harry could tell. The professors at Durmstrang were no fools that fawned over others just because they exhibited charm or some sort of skill. It was a testament to Riddle's rhetoric skills that he managed to get people to hang onto his every word in less than five minutes.

Harry clenched his hands in frustration, hating it all.

* * *

School work was boring. Now that he had no Death Eaters or association followers torturing him in class, life became bleak and grey, feeding into Harry's restlessness. He would have been happy with anything at this point. But no, Minister Farnes had truly purged the school of all Voldemort supporters, excluding their children of course. The teachers were harmless and neutral, the headmaster efficient and happy to do whatever was necessary to protect Harry, which was...nice. But well, boring.

No challenges, no conspiracies. There were no dead or missing students, no Death Eaters patrolling outside the wards. And if they were present, Rendahl's group of Aurors dealt with any threats as swiftly and silently as possible.

Actually, Rendahl was the only person aside from Mercia and Eileen who still bothered to talk to Harry outside of class. Danielle had been pulled out of school by her mother. The others, the small group of students still met in Grindelwald's hideout once a week, but Harry only taught them how to fight. They weren't close friends, only acquaintances. The distance between Harry and the others grew slowly and it was with no small bitterness that he recalled Lupin's words. It was a business arrangement. Nothing more, nothing less.

Krum ignored him, for the most part. Sometimes Harry imagined he could see guilt, or maybe regret in his eyes, but Krum never joined their group. Some argued that he was too busy with preparations and training for the Quidditch World Cup, but Harry knew better. The other boy had never offered an explanation, but his silence was all Harry needed to figure out what had happened. Krum probably had passed on information about Harry to the association and that's why he'd been present during the questioning; betraying him in exchange for something else. His family's safety maybe. Or his career. It was hard to tell.

It didn't even matter, to be honest. Riddle had been right about that. If Krum didn't want to explain himself, so be it.

The same applied to Dolohov. The boy had requested a change of rooms at the start of term, leaving Harry alone in his dorm. The new headmaster had agreed, perhaps more for Harry's sake than Filipp's, but Dolohov's reasons were slightly murkier than Krum's. People gossiped behind his back, aware that Filipp had lost his father just recently. And in such a brutal and cruel way.

Harry couldn't find it in himself to pity the boy. It wouldn't help anyway. He had other problems to deal with.

Despite Harry's troubles with the social side of life, his classwork was as good as always, although he was using his holly wand and not the cursed Rowan one; courtesy of Tom Riddle, of course. He'd actually given back Harry's wand in exchange for another one they had found in the cellar of Potter manor. No doubt, Riddle would've preferred to pay Ollivander a visit, but they both hadn't had the time nor the inclination to meet the wandmaker. He'd figure out their situation in five seconds or less, contacting Dumbledore just as quickly.

It just added to Harry's suspicions about Riddle. The bastard was planning something. In fact, he was constantly seen at Durmstrang's library, obsessively researching obscure magic and keeping his distance from Harry.

The worst thing about this situation was the fact that Harry couldn't talk to anyone about this, not even the minister who had accepted Riddle to teach at Durmstrang in the first place, not knowing what kind of darkness swirled behind that mask of innocent politeness.

That was the deal. Harry's silence in exchange for Riddle's cooperation and more freedom. They both knew however that it wouldn't hold, especially with Voldemort still demanding that Harry fulfilled his part of the contract. Riddle must be dreading the day he was forced to leave with Harry in order to meet the Dark Lord. Merlin knows what would happen if Voldemort discovered Riddle's presence at their meetings.

Harry stared ahead, not really listening to anything.

"Are you incapable of staying awake in my class, Mr. Potter?" the devil in question suddenly said, interrupting Harry's daydreaming. How rude.

"I don't know, Professor," Harry replied cheekily, surveying him with an air of boredom. "Maybe it's your voice." Staring up at Riddle, Harry smirked at him."I know you're talking and it might be important, but all I can hear is the sound of your overinflated ego."

Silence met his statement.

Then, "Detention, Mr. Potter. With me," Riddle announced silkily, his smirk promising retribution. At that, Harry blinked and placed a hand underneath his chin, enjoying this game between them. It's been more than a month and Harry was probably the only person in the castle who didn't swoon at the sight of their new Dark Arts Professor. Someone had to do the job after all; reminding this asshole that he wasn't in control.

Mercia sucked in a sharp breath, gaping at Harry as if he'd completely lost it. She wasn't the only one, though. Everyone seemed to  _adore_  him.

The lesson continued as usual, with people occasionally glaring at him for daring to insult their beloved 'Professor Thomas Deverill'. And really, that name was quite stupid, but it still made Harry aware that Riddle had gleaned too much information out of Harry' brain. He'd probably done it on purpose, choosing that name in particular. Barnabas Deverill had been another owner of the Elder Wand at some point, which was not something Harry had ever shared with the Dark Lord.

At the end of the lesson, Harry picked up his essay on vampires, briefly glancing at the bottom of the page. Riddle had scribbled down the time and place for Harry's detention. The Potter heir sighed and left the classroom, well aware of the man's infuriating stare.

* * *

"Remind me again why we're here and not at the ministry, Potter," Rendahl hissed, eyeing the cramped space in the abandoned classroom in distaste. Harry shot a wandless  _Bombarda_  at him, enjoying how much more powerful his magic had become over the last months, how clear his mind was without the Horcrux dragging him down. He'd refused to even touch his Rowan wand, but so far no negative side-effects had come out of this.

The Auror deflected the spell, but his annoyance was palpable.

"It's because you have to obey Minister Farnes," Harry voiced, sidestepping a  _Crucio_.

"That doesn't mean I agreed to train you here. This place isn't working. It's way too small," Rendahl said. And to be honest, he had a point. Durmstrang didn't have a training hall and the duelling chamber in the dungeons wasn't up to their standards yet.

What the Auror didn't know was that Harry had begged Farnes to let him stay in the castle. He didn't want to drag Riddle along with him to his training and he certainly didn't want to see Riddle during one of Harry's ministry sessions, spying on everything Harry discussed or even making his own allies and thus undermining Harry's work.

"It'll have to do for now.  _Expelliarmus_." Harry disarmed him swiftly, catching the Auror's wand just as quickly. "We'll find something else," he murmured and Rendahl bowed his head, hiding a smile that threatened to appear.

Someone clapped loudly and both of them turned around, only to see Eileen floating towards them, smiling brightly. "That was excellent, Harry. You're making swift progress."

"Of course he does," Rendahl shot back, rolling his eyes. "With me there's no reason why Potter should fail. Soon, he'll be ready to fight off any Death Eater he encounters." The Auror was spreading his arms, as if to make a point. It looked ridiculous.

Briefly closing his eyes, Harry inhaled the stifling air inside the classroom. Death Eaters were the least of his problems.

"Is there something you wanted, Eileen?" Harry asked, turning around to address her. The ghost looked solemn now, withdrawn even. Her eyes were serious and even Rendahl sensed the change in atmosphere, keeping his mouth shut as a result.

"Yes," she replied. "Have you figured out what those numbers mean?" Her gaze landed on one of the tables, where Harry's book bag had been carefully deposited. For a moment, Harry didn't know what she was talking about, before he remembered the journal he'd been gifted with.

"Hepzibah's entry, you mean?" he asked carefully, now alert. That book had caused him too many sleepless nights already, despite the utter rubbish the witch had written about a certain young Dark Lord. Upon returning, Eileen had insisted on doing more research, though Harry never figured out why she thought the journal was so important.

"Indeed," Eileen said, ignoring Rendahl's questioning stare. "While you were too busy discrediting the Dark Lord in public, I took the time to look it up." She sighed, her ghostly fingers brushing back a strand of lank hair. There was something in her expression, some sort of pain or perhaps fear when she mentioned the Dark Lord that made Harry think he wasn't getting the full picture.

"Well?" Harry prompted, tapping his foot impatiently.

Shaking her head, Eileen floated over, inspecting Harry's bag. "The witch was stupid, but she knew what she was getting into. In the end, she left a clue behind. Something that would help people out, in case they ever managed to find her journal."

Harry frowned, stepping closer as well. Rendahl remained silent, though. "But that can't be right. If it's so obvious, the wandmakers would've never given me that book in the first place," he argued.

"Can someone explain what's going on?" the Auror interrupted.

"No," both Harry and Eileen said, effectively shutting him up, although he wasn't very happy about it.

"Anyway," Eileen continued smoothly, "I think the wandmakers  _wanted_  you to know what those numbers meant. They wanted you to figure it out in order to carry out their Lord's task."

"And what do they mean exactly?" Harry asked, suddenly feeling uneasy.

"Coordinates," the ghost replied. "Or to be more specific. They reveal the main location of the people who are currently trying to hunt you down." At that, Rendahl looked up, just as interested in the topic as Harry.

"Nurmengard prison, that's the main base."

Harry froze, his suspicions finally proven right. So it was Lord Grindelwald who had been somehow involved with the association, possibly directing their attacks even behind bars. And Harry was meant to go there, meant to confront the old man. Granted, it was risky. But it would also give him the opportunity to strike back against these people. And their leader, if that's what the man was. It made sense though. Voldemort wouldn't put aside his issues with Dumbledore and Harry, if it hadn't been important.

"Absolutely not, Potter. You're not going there," Rendahl hissed, intently gazing at Harry's scheming expression. "Obviously it's a trap, you dunderhead."

"It is," Eileen agreed, though she tried to hide her concern. "I don't recommend going there all by yourself if you want to confront the Ex-Dark Lord."

"He won't be going alone," a cool voice suddenly interrupted and three heads turned simultaneously, instantly spotting the figure leaning against the door.

Oh bloody hell.

Brilliant. Just brilliant. Riddle was standing there, gazing at Harry and looking entirely too satisfied. "I was beginning to think you'd never figure it out." Riddle's eyes were sharp, almost crimson. And while the Auror had no reason to suspect anything, Harry could see that Eileen was watching the young teacher warily.

"What do you want, Professor?" Harry pressed his lips together, not entirely certain what Riddle wanted from him. It was unexpected. This whole thing.

Evidently, he'd known about Grindelwald long before Harry put the pieces together. It was frustrating, knowing that this Horcrux was using Harry's subconscious knowledge to his advantage without telling him anything.

Riddle raised an eyebrow. "Me? I'm simply offering my support."

"Don't make me laugh," Harry spat, disgusted. "There's something you want, so spit it out. I'm tired of your secrets." His aggressive reaction was probably confusing the hell out of Rendahl, but Harry decided to ignore his two 'friends'. He couldn't care less. So Riddle wanted him to confront the retired Dark Lord? Very well.

Riddle offered a smile. It didn't reassure Harry in the slightest.

"Follow me, child. And I will tell you."


	26. Hunting Season

The rain had kissed the ground under his feet, leaving mud and fallen leaves behind, which glistened in the light. Sunset replaced the clouds. Stepping off the main path and following a smaller one, which led to the forest, Harry observed his surroundings. Most students preferred the comfort and warmth of the main hall. But they wouldn't notice Harry's absence, and if some did...well, it wasn't any of their business what he did in his free time.

Autumn was spreading over Durmstrang's landscape like a golden blanket. The October chill seeped through his school robes and Harry inhaled the sharp air, feeling his lungs expand with life. The faint smell of bark and earthly waste was pleasant, though. It got stronger with every step he took and above him the forest began to block off all sources of light. Occasionally, a leaf would fall down, brushing his hair or shoulder, before being swept away.

His enemy-turned-reluctant-ally was walking slightly ahead of him, elegantly stepping over fallen branches. Riddle was probably enjoying himself now. Ordering Harry around was one of his favorite pastimes. He enjoyed assigning Harry detentions for the most ridiculous reasons, always keeping an eye on him, always watching.

To be honest, Riddle wasn't the only one who was stalking him, unpleasant as it was. Harry was only too happy to return the favor, simply because a person as dangerous and manipulative as him needed to be watched at all times.

They continued to walk in silence for a while, each lost to their own thoughts and machinations.

In front of them, the branches parted as if to let them through, so very much alive in Riddle's presence. It was strange, though, walking side by side with someone who had caused nothing but death in the past.

Reaching their destination, a small clearing, Riddle halted suddenly and bent down low to retrieve some Ashwinder eggs, wandlessly freezing the outer shell in the process. Nearby, Harry could see a dying Ashwinder watching the proceedings. She was hissing in low tones, weak, her body barely supporting itself.

Harry had to focus in order to understand her, but Riddle had no problem hissing back, using Parseltongue as easily as Harry had done, before the Horcrux had regained a body. It was something that annoyed him a bit. He knew that he'd gained this ability only because of the soul shard. He'd lose it, if they both separated entirely. Even now, the slight tugging sensation inside him was uncomfortable. As if a part of his magic wasn't his own, struggling to free itself.

He didn't want to lose the ability. Parseltongue was dead useful against Voldemort, if only to spy on the monster and his annoying pet.

Eventually, the snake took its last breath and Riddle pocketed the eggs. Harry wondered what Riddle intended to do with it, but it's not like the man would tell him. They were both keeping secrets from each other, now that they could.

"If the link didn't exist, you'd kill me," Harry began, stating the obvious and breaking the silence between them. It had felt unnatural for some reason. "I'm alone with you, in a forest. It must be hard for you trying to restrain yourself."

The words didn't have any effect, at least not on the outside. Riddle merely turned toward him, hands clasped behind his back.

"As long as you're alive, so am I," the man said.

He tsked, watching in dissatisfaction as Harry grimaced. "As long as he is alive, so will you be. And as long as I'm alive, so is my Other Self. Quite the predicament, hm?"

It took a second for the words to register.

"The blood ritual," Harry stated, feeling cold.

Riddle stepped closer, raising an eyebrow, though there was something akin to appreciation in his eyes. "It  _was_  a Regeneration Potion the Dark Lord used the night he killed the Longbottom boy. Surely you can imagine what effects that would have on you if he used your blood?"

"But he used mine later on," Harry said. "Doesn't that make a difference?" He still had a hard time trying to wrap his mind around the idea that Voldemort had used a Regeneration Potion in the first place. These potions were some of the darkest and most ancient ones, incredibly difficult to brew. Many things could go wrong with that.

"It does, but even a drop of your blood inside his veins is enough to keep you alive," Riddle replied, briefly pausing as he looked at him more closely. "Your mother's protection in that regard was quite thorough," he said, sneering a bit. The idea must've disgusted the man. Admitting that a mudblood had pulled off this type of magic must've been a struggle.

He stepped forward, once again leading the way as they began to make their way back to the castle. Harry mulled over his words, feeling baffled that Riddle was so forthcoming with his answers. The man often used his detentions to talk to him, but it wasn't like Riddle was altruistic. Every comment he made, every answer he gave led to an endgame. But what was it? Why did he think it would be an advantage to make Harry aware of certain problems, but not everything? People usually preferred to keep Harry in the dark, not even giving him the slightest chance to figure it out.

Was there even a logical reason behind Riddle's actions?

In any case, Harry had more questions and if Riddle was in the mood for talking, he would oblige. Looking down, green eyes trailed lower, eventually reaching Riddle's clasped hands. The fingers were twitching, especially after Riddle's use of wandless magic. Harry had noticed it in class, although his teacher was extremely good at hiding it.

"What's wrong with your hands?" Blunt as usual. That was the best way to go.

The man stopped walking.

"Excuse me?"

His tone was sharp, but Riddle kept his back turned. Distantly, Harry was aware of a rising tide inside them both, the man's emotions tasting familiar to him. Was it the link between them? Harry could sometimes feel a burning in his scar whenever Voldemort's emotions got out of hand, but with Riddle the link was more stable, a soothing presence against Voldemort's ire. Now it was ominous.

Harry held firm against the onslaught.

"You seem to be holding yourself differently. It's unnatural," he said. "And your hands keep trembling at certain times when you're using magic."

His stance rigid, Riddle turned his head in Harry's direction. "Always the hero, right?"

Harry snorted, unable to help himself. His own footsteps carried him over, closer to Riddle. "We're linked for now. What happens to you is important to me, for obvious reasons. You've said it yourself."

Riddle chuckled lowly, but then he continued to walk, forcing Harry to follow him like a lost puppy. "Nevermind that, boy." Riddle cocked his head to the side, considering his next words. "This body is merely inadequate for the amount of magic it contains."

Harry blinked. Really?

"Wait a minute. This is your magic, right? You should have no problem keeping it inside, even if it's not your own body." Instantly, Harry knew he said a bit too much, because Riddle's shoulders stiffened and he shot him a look full of suspicion. Oops.

"My magic is my own, Potter. It's much harder for this body to contain my power, because the sacrifice wasn't sufficiently prepared for it, before I took over." Tom regarded him with indifference, stepping over another branch. His cloak billowed behind him. And there was no mud staining the hem.

Horcruxes needed to manipulate a sacrifice emotionally, before taking over. Harry knew that. The victim's life force needed to accept the invasion to some degree. It was true that it never happened with the boy, but that didn't explain the sensation Harry felt coming from Riddle. A gnawing sense of foreboding gripped his thoughts.

"It's like...it's like you're leaking magic," he whispered, hesitating a bit. The words carried over to the other wizard, although there was no strong reaction to them.

"It will settle down, with time. It's of no consequence to you," Riddle said finally, but his steps grew longer. Harry was forced to hurry.

It wasn't an answer. In fact, Harry was pretty certain Riddle had lied. Harry could think of one plausible explanation, though.

Riddle's body would deteriorate. It was inevitable.

Without a willing sacrifice, or a victim that was coerced into it, Riddle would have no choice but to return back to him. And apparently, that wasn't something the man was ready for, if his displeasure was an indication. That's what he was researching in the library, Harry thought with deep unease. It wasn't just the link between them that caused Riddle's problems. It was the fact that he had no alternative, no way of destroying the connection between them permanently, so that he could get a suitable container. He was on a time limit. Eventually, it would start all over, because his own soul was still grappling with Harry's to take charge. He could feel it. They both could.

Harry didn't say a word about it.

"They won't search for this body?" he asked. "I'm sure the association would have investigated his disappearance," Harry said. Riddle caught onto his change of topic, but he led it slide. Odd. Harry frowned, not liking the passive stance.

"They won't. At least for now."

"Right. It must be harder for you pretending to be someone who doesn't even exist," Harry added, scoffing internally at the name Riddle went by these days. And that was another thing that bothered the Potter heir. Riddle wasn't annoyed by the fact that Harry addressed him as Tom Riddle, instead of Voldemort. Moreover, the dark wizard had introduced himself after taking over the body, using his old name.

Was he disassociating himself from his alter ego?

That couldn't be the case. Riddle - according to Dumbledore's memories - despised his Muggle heritage, loathed and hated the name with every fiber of his being. This one wouldn't be any different from his master soul, unless he planned to start over. That was the only thing that made sense.

Riddle stared ahead, but Harry could tell he was unsettled by something. "As far as I'm aware, nobody here is connected to our enemies. Besides, the school's secrecy vow will guarantee that nothing can be linked back to the boy's disappearance," he explained offhandedly, dismissing the matter as unimportant.

Their eyes locked and Harry swallowed. "You've thought this through, haven't you?" he said, trying to ignore the charged air between them, keeping it light.

"You would have been disappointed if I didn't." Riddle smiled knowingly. Despite his appearance, Harry once again saw Voldemort's soul staring out of those eyes, leaving no doubt as to whom Harry was dealing with.

"True," Harry said eventually, chuckling a bit. Averting his gaze, he continued to follow the path back to the entrance of the castle. He wasn't feeling the cold anymore, the October chill long gone to be replaced with the feeling of Riddle's presence. Warmth.

It wasn't a feeling the younger wizard associated with the Dark Lord.

Riddle however wasn't done with him. Apparently, they would have to deal with what Harry had learned from Eileen. That was the point of this meeting.

"You want to confront Lord Grindelwald," Riddle stated as they both entered the building. "There's the small issue you have with the public's opinion. Most people won't take kindly to the fact that their Golden Boy is meeting a former Dark Lord."

"They won't find out." Ignoring the raised eyebrow, Harry headed for the stairways, glad that everybody was at dinner. He wasn't in the mood for a talk with Eileen, which is why he didn't return to his dorm. Besides, Riddle was leading him to his office on the second floor, mindful of the portraits that were keeping an eye on both of them.

"Did you really think I'd make a public spectacle out of this?" Harry asked, his own eyebrows raised in mock surprise. "No, if what I learned is true, it's best to just do it covertly."

"They will find out, Potter." Riddle opened the door and led him inside. Harry had been inside the man's office more often than was socially acceptable. And that was just the last month. People would get suspicious. Already, students gossiped behind his back, calling him teacher's pet and various other names. Riddle's attention on him caused trouble.

The room was sparsely decorated, but Harry kind of liked the smell of old books, and the jars of blue light standing near the window. They were throwing a mysterious light on every corner of this place, although he didn't quite know the purpose of those jars. The office reminded Harry of Voldemort's place, but the differences were just as marked. Riddle preferred more light, for one thing. Additionally, he seemed to connect the dots much faster than Voldemort. Harry doubted the Dark Lord would've used even one drop of Harry's blood, if what Riddle told him was true.

"Sit." Riddle indicated at the chair in front of his enormous desk and Harry sighed. Really, the man was terrible to deal with on a good day, especially when he wanted answers.

Harry took his usual seat and leaned back, resting his elbows on the armrests, while Riddle poured them both a cup of tea.

"It doesn't matter if they find out," Harry began. "First of all, I'm not planning on killing the old man. For all we know, he could have been just another cog in the machine."

Riddle sneered, shaking his head in disbelief. "A former Dark Lord? He wouldn't settle for any less than complete control."

"And it doesn't change a thing," Harry forced out, clenching his hands. "Even if he is their leader, what does it matter? I'd still have to destroy them entirely, before they get to the both of us. All it tells me is that their leader is a powerful individual. Big deal."

"You presume you can defeat him?" The Dark wizard laughed, the sound derisive, an insult to Harry's pride. "You make it sound so easy, Potter. Let me remind you that you can barely fight off your Auror minions on your own." Picking up his cup, Riddle took a sip, before setting it down again.

Harry threw him an unimpressed look. Riddle's criticism was warranted, yes. And it was disconcerting for him to know that the other wizard knew so much about his skills. But that was beside the point. Harry had other plans.

"Grindelwald is imprisoned. There isn't much fighting involved, if he can't even use a wand. He's vulnerable."

"Do you know that?" Riddle retorted. "Do you know his situation, the wards that keep him in place, the guards, what their own loyalties are." At Harry's silence, Riddle's lips thinned, his expression contemptuous. "Grindelwald built it. It's his stronghold as much as his prison."

Fuck. Harry threw up his hands. "Fine," he said. "Fine, l'll figure it out." Something occurred to him after a moment and Harry looked up. "When Dumbledore imprisoned him, you were alive at that time. You should know what happened afterward." He left his tea untouched, as always.

"I'm not aware of it, no," Riddle replied. "I had other plans. Dumbledore's issues with the man didn't affect me in the slightest."

"Yeah, right," Harry said, not believing him. "You were too busy playing Borgin's errant boy, seducing old witches, correct?"

'Disgusting', he thought, catching the flicker of rage in Riddle's eyes.

"Careful, boy." the man warned, anger distorting his features. "You're trying my patience." The link between them burned; a hot, merciless grip on their souls. Suddenly, the office didn't seem as welcoming to Harry, trapped as he was with a soul shard of Voldemort.

He forced down his unease.

"Anyway, we're acting on a hunch here. Nothing is set in stone." He paused, narrowing his eyes at the other. "Unless there's something else you're not telling me, Riddle."

"It's not my fault you're too slow. I told you that already." Riddle tapped his fingers against the stack of student essays he'd received earlier this day. "You should've known that Grindelwald was directly involvement from the moment Antonin Dolohov's corpse was found at the ministry. Dumbledore's reaction was all the proof you needed, Potter."

"I had my suspicions," Harry conceded, but Riddle tsked, yet again dissatisfied.

"Suspicions aren't actions. Your lack of incentive is appalling. Instead of trusting your instincts, you prefer to hide behind more powerful people, including that minister of yours and my Other Self. It's pathetic."

"Pathetic?" Harry slapped his hands on the desk, leaning forward. "I'm being cautious, you fucking idiot! It's called self-preservation. You of all people should know that." Unbelievable. The nerve of that monster.

"A leader shouldn't hide behind others, especially those weaker than him," the man admonished, making Harry roll his eyes in return. Riddle ignored him, though. "And self-preservation is more than just sitting it out in the safety of this castle. It means gathering information, reliable sources and striking back with cunning and intelligence. What have you done so far, boy? Training a bunch of brats?" Riddle jeered, leaning forward as well, his hands suddenly clasped together in a show of infuriating composure. "You're bound by that contract to  _Him_. Not only that. You leave yourself wide open in the political field as well. Norway's minister is tightening the leash and you let her do whatever she wants."

"She got rid of the Death Eaters," Harry hissed. "She helped me out when Voldemort held me captive. She kept Fudge and Dumbledore  _off my back_."

"For a price. Your loyalty."

They both fell silent.

Harry breathed heavily, putting some distance between himself and that...man. He didn't want to hear any of this. Besides, Riddle had no right accusing him of being complacent and lazy. Harry was 13 years old. He was doing the best he could in a situation that didn't leave him with many options. He had no power base, he was not an adult. And he was still learning magic. He even bought himself some time with that deal. And it's not like Voldemort kept calling him every day.

It was more than anyone else could've done in Harry's position. Riddle was wrong.

Suddenly, his thoughts came to a halt and he stared at the Horcrux in front of him.

"You didn't say why you want me to go there," Harry challenged. "All this talk about me being a leader. You want me to go to Nurmengard, preferably as soon as possible." Riddle's stare intensified, but Harry didn't stop. "You're not as clever as you think you are, Tom. You've known about Grindelwald for a while, but you waited until I caught up, instead of telling me this stuff right away. And now," he paused, enjoying the man's stony silence. "Now you're fishing for information on my plans."

Harry smiled pleasantly. "But you just want to make me think I'm in control here, that everything I find out about the association is merely a byproduct, and not a result of your meddling influence."

There must've been a reason why Eileen stumbled upon the journal again, becoming so obsessed with it, although he didn't think Riddle had talked to her. Coupled with the man's ongoing research and Harry's belief that the dark wizard was on a time limit, it wasn't that hard to keep thinking Riddle was pulling the strings behind the scenes.

As for his motives...The only thing Riddle would care about was power and his continued survival.

But maybe, it was independence as well. Independence from both Harry and Voldemort.

A horrible suspicion crept up on him, but Harry forced himself to keep his thoughts in check, his face completely blank.

"You're right," Harry began, staring at Riddle's vacant eyes. "I'm tired of playing the victim, watching my back all the time. I want answers. And you-" He chuckled, noticing how the wizard's expression changed drastically; a wariness making the man clench his jaw, as if he was forcing himself not to react.

"Aren't you a piece of work," Harry mocked. "If you want me to stop playing the victim, be careful what you wish for. It might just backfire on  _you_."

Suddenly, Riddle left his seat, vanishing the cups with a wave of his hand, before stalking forward; a predator on the hunt. His expression was stormy, finally losing the mock civility, which had soured all interactions between them in the last couple of weeks.

"You don't want me as your enemy, Harry," he hissed, gripping Harry's chin tightly and forcing him to look up. His fingers were twitching. No hiding there. Riddle wouldn't be able to pretend that his condition wasn't getting worse. Blue light cast a shadow on them, somehow making the unknown wizard appear more like...Tom Riddle.

"Likewise." Harry grinned, hiding his own turmoil.

Stalemate. That's all that mattered. For now.

* * *

Another week passed without trouble. Mercia sat beside Potter during breakfast, her own cup of tea left forgotten. Potter was still keeping up the annoying habit of daydreaming. He was currently filling his cup with unnecessary amounts of sugar and he didn't seem to notice a thing. From what she could see, the boy just stared at the empty spot in front of him, completely lost to the real world.

She often wondered what he was thinking in those moments, what was distracting him. Granted, Potter had a lot on his mind. It wasn't very surprising to see the boy distance himself from their classmates, even his friends who so often trained with him after classes. They'd kept up their training simply because everybody knew that there was a war out there. But Potter wasn't socializing with them. And they didn't ask for more.

Potter didn't seem to care much, although he always came prepared, ready to teach a new light spell for self-defense. It was a bit of a hassle, though, trying to teach a bunch of dark wizards some light magic. But because it was Potter, nobody complained, often seeing the logic behind it.

Mercia thought of Danielle at times like this. The gossiping witch had often entertained them enough to break the seriousness between Potter's group. Now that she was gone, everybody just stared at him, grim faces and all, expecting to be led to war at any moment.

Even worse, Dolohov had distanced himself as well, opting to wallow in his own misery instead. Now that Potter had no roommate to fight with, the distance between the two was even more pronounced.

Rubbing her nose, Mercia looked away, too tired to take in the blank canvas that was Harry Potter. The sight alone was exhausting.

Instead, her eyes landed on the phenomenon that was their new Dark Arts teacher. Glancing at the Head Table, she could see those heavy eyes steadily fixed on Potter. Deverill was staring at the boy, as usual. Though, it was subtle, especially with the professors constantly vying for the man's attention. She could see him talk to the Astronomy teacher, but his gaze rarely strayed too far from the Boy-Who-Lived.

She didn't like it. She liked their professor for his competence, sure. But this? No. It wasn't normal. And Potter was either ignoring the man, or unaware of the fact that their professor was a creep. Seriously, there was something going on between them, something that went beyond polite interest in Dark Lord slayers. It just wasn't good.

Several changes took place during the new term, though she couldn't tell if it was for the best. Potter had switched his wand, for example. Maybe it had something to do with the duel against Dolohov ages ago, but the fact remained that the other wizard acted...differently. Even his magic wasn't the same. Stronger, yes. But definitely lighter as well, something that wouldn't go down well in a school full of dark wizards. Perhaps that was another reason for Potter's distance. Maybe he just didn't feel as if he belonged here. Indeed, one could say magical affinity mattered quite a bit and young people could be prejudiced against those that didn't conform to their ideas of greatness. Dark Arts that is. Potter was great. Yes. And getting better. But he was  _still a Potter_.

It didn't bother her too much, of course. Her uncle Gawain was also a light wizard through and through, bigoted in many ways, but family nonetheless. Moreover, Potter didn't abandon the use of Dark Arts; he couldn't do it in a school that taught it on a day to day basis. He perfected his skills in both arts and helped others, no matter what they preferred. A refreshing attitude these days.

Mercia sighed deeply, using her hands to support her head. Skipping one or two classes sounded like a good idea. She wasn't in the mood for Transfiguration anyway.

Suddenly, she could feel it. Something happened.

Glancing sideways, she immediately noticed Potter's pained expression. He was rubbing his scar, trying to make himself look inconspicuous, but something must've been bothering him. Gone was the blank look, replaced by...was it resignation? A grim satisfaction?

"Are you okay?"

Potter didn't seem to register the words at first. Bewildered green eyes turned toward her. "What?"

"You're rubbing your scar," Mercia pointed out. "Do you need to go to the infirmary?"

Potter shook his head, but the grimace remained. "It's fine. Just a bit of a headache."

"Really?" Mercia asked mockingly. "Strange, that scar looks inflamed. Must be one hell of a headache then."

"It's fine." Potter suddenly stood, almost knocking his plate off the table in the process. A few people looked up in surprise. Already, Mercia could see Dolohov giving them both pointed looks.

The sound of hooting distracted the students. Above their heads, owls began to circle the tables, dropping the morning's issue of Norway's most popular paper onto it.

Mercia had a bad feeling about this. Voices began to rise, destroying the comfortable silence in the main hall only to be replaced by shock. Heads turned around, eyes instantly fixed on Potter's still form. Even the professors looked up, having read the headlines.

Mercia reached for a copy, a bit reluctant to see what had happened.

There on the front page.

An attack on four newspaper agencies in London. 24 people dead, many wounded, including Aurors and two Hogwarts teachers. A certain Professor Lupin had been severely injured while trying to protect civilians at Diagon Alley. Minister Scrimgeour had heightened security all around London's wizarding communities as a result, even sending a team of Aurors to Hogwarts as a precaution.

But it went beyond that. The Dark Lord had squashed a small pure-blood revolt near Dorset, consisting of prominent names like Lady Zabini and extended family members of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. It was a huge deal, furthering tensions between moderate pure-blood families and radicals. Surely, other countries like Germany and Bulgaria would take notice.

Voldemort's revenge had been swift. And the single source of all that trouble was currently standing right beside her. Looking up, she noticed Potter's grim expression. He'd expected something like that.

"I need to see the headmaster," Potter murmured. He left their table, marching out of the hall, either oblivious to the stares he received in return or not caring at all. As soon as he was out of earshot, the voices grew louder.

Well, it was Potter's responsibility, Mercia thought, looking up at the Head Table again. Potter had been the main source announcing the Dark Lord's less than desirable background. He only had himself to blame.

The professors looked deeply concerned, although they probably only cared what this new situation meant for them and their own families. One exception sat amongst them. Their Dark Arts Professor stared at the spot where Potter had left moments ago, his lips forming a smile.

Though, as soon as her eyes landed on him, his own dark eyes turned toward Mercia. She couldn't help it. Ducking her head, she blushed, somehow hating herself for it. Bloody hell, if there was some sort of history between Potter and their professor, she hoped for Potter's sake that he wasn't nearly half as submissive in the man's presence as her. It would be embarrassing.

* * *

The headmaster's office had remained unchanged. Despite Black's bad influence on the school, the new headmaster had left everything untouched, as if waiting for someone. Perhaps Karkaroff.

Harry stepped inside, his mind elsewhere. It wasn't the first time Headmaster Albertsen wanted to talk to Harry in private. But the atmosphere was considerably more strained than usual.

Looking up, he took in the haggard features, the bags underneath his eyes. His happy persona, gone.

Wordlessly, the man slid a letter across the desk, urging him to open it.

"If this has anything to do with the article, I'm not interested," Harry said without emotion. "I know what I'm doing."

"We can discuss your actions at a later stage," Albertsen retorted, dismissing the matter. "I've been meaning to give this to you. My predecessor wanted you to have this and before you ask, no, it's not cursed," he added, noticing Harry's reaction. "Take as much time as you need."

And with that, the headmaster slipped past him and out the door.

Harry opened the envelope with no small amount of trepidation.

_Potter,_

_If you're reading this letter it means I'm dead. Too bad, but there's hardly anything that could change the outcome. My fate has been sealed as soon as I decided to follow another master._

_Oh, well. Such is life, especially for people who don't have the guts to stand up for themselves, I suppose. It's pathetic of me to admit it, though. Now you can laugh._

Harry stared.

_I tried, of course. But power corrupts even the best of us; even if you take it for all the right reasons._

_I'm writing this, because I know you have two options in this game. Live or Die. Obviously, if you're reading this, it also means that you somehow escaped my friends, thwarting my master's plans for you._

_I don't know how much you have found out about us at this point. The Deathly Hallows, their legacy. My Master's obsession with it. It all leads to your death, preferably before the Dark Lord Voldemort can get to you first._

_Speaking of the Dark Lord; I don't need to justify my actions, but yes. I wanted to protect this generation, your generation from his mad influence. You may not believe me. But it's true. It was brutal, my methods bordering on abuse of power. I didn't care._

_I don't regret a single thing, although I'm sure my master wouldn't appreciate me helping you out in any way. But you see, I want to make this game more interesting._

_If you have managed to get this far, boy, I would like to give you another fighting chance, another opportunity to prove that you're more than just the Boy-Who-Lived._

_Go to Godric's Hollow. That's it. That's my advice. Great, isn't it?_

_Your enemy, tutor,_

_R.A.B._

_Oh, and before I forget, do give my brother a chance if you meet him. He's as much a Death Eater as I am one of Dumbledore's old socks._

Harry closed his eyes, feeling another headache coming on.


	27. Neutral? Oh no!

His jacket was a mess with holes, the coarse material as appealing as a piece of rag. It was old-fashioned and too big for him, but Aunt Petunia never bothered to waste money on Harry. Dudley's cast-offs would have to suffice.

Obviously they didn't, especially during a winter as unforgiving and cold as this one. Snowflakes drifted past him as Harry walked back 'home', utterly miserable.

His sneakers squelched the dirtied snow, socks completely drenched at this point. Harry didn't have gloves on, which is why his fingers were close to freezing off.

'Maybe Uncle Vernon will leave me alone, if my hands fall off,' Harry thought in cynical amusement. No more cooking, cleaning, doing the laundry.

But that was his life. He'd gotten used to it.

God, it was so cold.

Walking across the main street, he watched the ongoing bustle of Little Whinging with an odd sense of detachment, as if part of himself didn't exist in this place. It sure as hell felt like it, what with people ignoring him all the time, although he was a kid walking all by himself. Some people recognized him though, but they turned their heads as soon as he passed them.

Sometimes Harry wondered if something was wrong with his eyes, what with people avoiding to look at him. Was he being creepy? Weird? It was hard to tell.

Keeping his head down was probably better. Harry didn't really fit in anyway, so for the most part he pretended that he didn't exist. The tactic often worked at school and made Harry's life easier. Showing how different, how poor and friendless he was compared to the rest wasn't the smartest thing to do, after all. Too bad his school didn't implement a rule that made wearing school uniforms compulsory. Hiding his poverty was out of the cards for him.

In any case, if you were ignored, you could do whatever you wanted, which was better than standing out and painting a target on your back. It was a hard lesson he learned over the course of his school career. But it served him well.

Today had been another one of those days. For the most part, Harry had done his school work, remained silent and pretended he was a ghost. The teachers had treated him like one, too. And it was great. Sitting in the back, he'd watched his classmates in silence, only speaking when a teacher called on him. Dudley's nasty looks had stopped bothering him after a while when that happened. Harry could lose himself in his daydreams of epic battles, of soldiers charging at each other, defeating dragons and so on. And nothing else mattered in those moments.

He packed his stuff at the end of the day and left the grounds of St. Grogory's Primary School, not quite enjoying the Christmas decor all around him. Winter break always meant more time at home and watching as his cousin received another truckload of presents. At school, he could at least have some time for himself, even with all the bullying that went on.

Harry sighed. Sticking his hands in his pockets, he exhaled, puffs of warm air leaving him. Passing cars left large trails on the road, splattering more dirt as they drove away. So lost was he in his thoughts that he almost ran into a group of teenagers who had stopped near the closest shop window to his left. A cursory glance revealed some sort of new video game on the market. Nothing he could get excited about, but the girls and boys kept wondering if their parents would buy it or not. Harry quickened his steps, not wanting to listen to any of this.

People rushed to get their shopping done. Little Whinging's streets were covered in mud and snow, the cracked stones and tar making it hard to walk without accidentally slipping and falling onto the pavement.

Harry knew that he had roughly 20 minutes left to get back home, if he didn't want Aunt Petunia to make him sleep in the garage as punishment. He wasn't allowed to be late, unlike Dudley.

His cousin was probably already tormenting some poor kid in the park, along with his stupid friend Piers Polkiss. They had all the time in the world for that kind of fun.

With another dejected sigh, he crossed the street, noticing the small but very popular café which was located next to an antique shop Harry had visited from time to time. It was his usual route back home, but today Harry thought it would've been better to avoid it all.

The sight alone triggered unpleasant memories of hunger and envy.

The café was packed with students and office workers rushing to buy an assortment of pastries before returning home. Harry blinked, his gaze fixed on the antique shop right next to it. It was practically deserted, compared to every other building on the street. Apparently, not many people were in the mood to buy tattered books and old trinkets before Christmas.

He'd been there a couple of times, mostly just to escape Dudley's gang, but Harry had never seen the shop in such a desolate state. Stepping closer, he pressed his hands against the window displaying books, portraits and jewelry. From what he could see, half of the inventory was already gone, having been moved somewhere else. "Odd," he thought, frowning a bit.

Was the shop closing down?

It would be terrible, considering the fact that the owner was the only person who'd let Harry stay there for a prolonged time, opting to overlook his poor attire. Most people weren't that accepting of Harry's appearance. They only cared about customers who could actually buy something, unlike him. Charity at Little Whinging simply didn't exist.

Straightening his shoulders, Harry looked sideways, checking for people who might have followed him, before entering the shop.

Upon entering, he immediately felt the tension drain away from his body, the cold making way for blessed warmth. Noises from the nearby café disappeared in a flash as Harry closed the door. Taking a couple of steps forward, he immediately noticed the differences in the layout of the front room. It really looked like the shop was closing down. Boxes littered the ground on the left side, the walls bare except for a few portraits that looked good enough to sell. Even the counter was polished, though still cluttered with trinkets. The all-familiar dust was gone, which made the entire shop look less authentic.

"Hello?" Harry asked tentatively. An old-fashioned vase right in front of him caught Harry's attention, having never been there before, as far as he could remember. Nobody answered him, but Harry knew that the owner was present, probably having lost himself in his books, as usual.

The vase was polished to perfection, so much that he could see his own reflection staring back at him, tired, pale features gleaming on the surface. Looking closer, he was taken aback when he noticed another person standing right behind Harry, its reflection staring at Harry with amusement.

"Back again, Mr. Potter?"

The owner, Mr. Clarke grinned down at him, holding a box in his arms and making Harry flinch in surprise. He hadn't heard the man at all.

Taking two steps away, Harry craned his neck, feeling ridiculous all of a sudden. Alfred Clarke was an old man pushing his seventies, but he was still tall and intimidating.

"I'm sorry, sir. I was just looking around," Harry said, flushing a bit, his arm raised awkwardly to point at the vase. He didn't like it when people approached him without warning, but it's not like he could reveal this to an outsider. An adult, he didn't even know well.

"Well, that is generally what people are supposed to do when they visit my shop," Clarke replied, before turning around to take a seat, depositing the heavy box on the counter in the process. Harry didn't know what to do. There was no other chair. It left him standing uselessly in the middle of the room, looking completely out of place.

Usually, he went straight to the shelves, scanning the titles of old, used books. But today there was nothing left for him to do and it's not like he was a customer who could buy anything.

"Is the shop closing down?" he asked. And could have slapped himself right after.

That was probably rude. Harry flushed, looking down again, but not before catching the slightly befuddled expression on the old man's face.

Deep eyes settled on him and Mr. Clarke let out a chuckle, before turning back to sort out his box again, putting even more stuff into it. "Didn't you notice the sign on my door, before coming inside?" he asked.

Harry swiveled around, confused. Ah, yes. There it was. Mr. Clarke had put up a note on the door, and from what Harry guessed it probably read closing-down sale or something like that. Though, it was nothing eye-catching. He could only see the back of it. But usually people put up more of an effort to sell their stuff, plastering entire windows with slogans and low prices proclaiming last-minute deals.

"I'm sorry," Harry said on instinct. But the old man merely shook his head.

"It's not your fault, my boy. People are simply not interested in the past. They're more concerned about the future." Clarke smiled, although Harry thought he looked a bit sad. It provoked a familiar sensation in Harry, making him want to fix this, to make the man smile again in genuine happiness, like he'd done so many times when Harry had come to visit him. They had talked a few times, but Harry didn't want to presume too much.

He didn't know him well, but what he did know about him was the fact that the man was unusually kind. Nicer than most adults.

"So will you be going somewhere else?" Harry asked after a while. The thought that he wouldn't have a hiding spot from Dudley's gang anymore didn't sit well with him; that and the idea that he wouldn't be able to talk to another person without getting shouted at.

Mr. Clarke hummed, rummaging in his box, before pulling out what looked like a set of old, wooden toy soldiers. He set it aside and then he looked up again.

"Yes. I think Scotland would do me some good."

Clarke considered Harry, watching him for a response, as if what he said should hold some sort of special meaning for the young boy. Harry didn't really understand it, though. But his expression fell, unhappiness plain for everyone to see.

The old man stood and left his seat, approaching Harry slowly, before patting his shoulders to comfort him.

"Don't be so sad about it, Harry," he said. "I'm sure you will find another place that holds your interest." His eyes narrowed then. "Perhaps not at Little Whinging. God knows this place is boring." The man chuckled, before letting go of Harry.

His words fell on deaf ears. Harry wasn't convinced at all. If anything, the picture of his bleak future took on a clear form, horrifying images of his life as an adult, homeless and stuck in this town forever, becoming real. Just as real as the men he sometimes saw lingering in narrow alleys, emaciated and without hope. He could see himself in this role. Vernon's threats in the past had made that quite possible, too.

"I don't think I will ever leave," he murmured, staring at nothing. "It's not like I have somewhere else to go."

"Is that so?" Mr. Clarke dismissed his concerns, eyebrows raised in disbelief. "Forgive me, but I was under the impression that this is your decision to make. Perhaps not now. But you don't have to stay here, if you don't want to."

"I don't know." Harry shrugged helplessly. Running away always sounded tempting. He'd played with that idea for months now, but he had no clue how to go about that.

"You'll figure it out," the old man replied. "In time, you'll see that there's a wealth of opportunity, a world full of wonders and magic, even if your situation right now makes you feel as if you're trapped. I felt the same when I was your age."

The confession broke through Harry's gloomy thoughts, making him look up. It sounded so unreal. Like one of Harry's daydreams.

"Really? What did you do, sir?"

He'd always wanted to know how people could do that, how they could be successful without others, without family backing them up right from the start.

"Oh, this and that," Clarke said, his words vague. "But I was an orphan. And trust me, orphanages are not the best starting point in your life. So I ran, took odd jobs until I was ready to finish my education."

Harry's eyes widened. An orphanage? It shouldn't have been worse than living with people like the Dursleys your whole life. He couldn't exactly call them family. But Mr. Clarke was just like him. And that was oddly comforting.

The man returned to his desk, picking up the set of toy soldiers again, before handing it over. "It's a gift. A parting gift, if you like," the man murmured, ignoring Harry's surprise. He took it, not quite sure where this was going.

"Running away, I suppose, is a matter of determination. And building connections." Clarke continued, staring at the small objects with a certain amount of fondness. "I found my purpose in life and now I'm doing what I love, despite not getting much money out of it."

Harry, too, continued to stare at his 'gift'.

"How did you know, sir? That this is what you wanted to do?" he asked, timid. How did people know what they wanted in life? The thought alone was so strange to him. Doing what you love? His uncle always complained about work, never satisfied with anything. And aunt Petunia was too busy spying on the neighbors to even consider doing something else with her time. Is that what she loved to do?

Clarke surveyed Harry closely, the question weighing on both of their minds. "Happiness," he said after a while. "I was happy when I collected treasures of forgotten days. They held so much history, you could almost trace it back in your mind. And I learned as much as I could, curious as I was. I travelled the world and then settled down to do what I was good at and what made me happy."

"But I don't know what makes me happy." The words, unbidden, tumbled right out of his mouth and Harry felt shame and despair taking a hold of him. He didn't mean to say that.

"You will know, in time," the old man said, conviction in his voice, as if he could see a future that was beyond Harry's understanding. His eyes were sharp again, aged features transformed into something quite youthful. Even powerful.

On instinct, Harry straightened his back, hands clenched around his gift. "Thank you, sir."

Mr. Clarke inclined his head. "You're welcome, my boy."

* * *

Two weeks after Christmas it happened again.

"Hero Potter. Look at you. Not so brave now, are you?" Piers Polkiss sneered, his rat-like face twisted in disdain. They kept laughing at him, laughing at the fact that he'd done something so stupid; protecting a young boy earlier this day at the park. The other boy had run away of course, leaving Harry at the mercy of his cousin's goons. And so it began. Punches, Harry hunting and humiliation. The kick came again, but Harry didn't have the strength to move away. It hit him right in the back and he cried out, the pain wrecking his small body without mercy.

"Crying again? Do you miss your mummy?" Dudley jeered.

Another hit, right in the stomach. Harry screamed then, sure that he'd die if nothing happened to stop this. It's been going on for God knows how long. His lips were bitten-though and tears ran down his swollen face.

Dudley's friends had outdone themselves this time. Five against one wasn't fair, not by a long shot, but even two against one was enough to subdue Harry who hadn't been at his best for days, both mentally and physically. But they got bored of his reactions in the end. Eventually, they left him behind, laughing at his misery before joining their families for dinner. Lying in the dirt and snow, he could do nothing but curl into himself, the pain making him dizzy and sick. Even the slightest movement hurt.

'H-help.'

His plea got swallowed by the wind. Nobody was there right now. Nobody would save him. A shuddering breath escaped his bloodied lips.

_Why me?_

What did he ever do to deserve this? Harry squeezed his eyes shut. His glasses were probably broken, having been knocked off during the fight.

What was it about him that made others hate him so much?

It wasn't difficult to answer that question. He'd come to the same conclusion plenty of times, but every single time he thought about it, it just made everything so unfair.

_In time, you'll see that there's a wealth of opportunity for you, a world full of wonders and magic._

The tears didn't stop running, that ugly emotional beast taking a firm hold of him as Harry trembled all over. He hadn't thought about the old man in days after having said his goodbyes. He'd been distracted enough already, what with his spectacularly late arrival. Aunt Petunia had been furious, of course.

Still, the tiny glimmer of hope refused to leave him and Harry focused on it, pushing past his physical and mental torment to lose himself in something positive. It would be better than just giving up.

 _I need to get away_.

A world full of wonders and magic?

Closing his eyes, he let his longing for another life carry him away.

Unbeknownst to him, Harry Apparated _,_ this time not appearing on his school's kitchen roof, but in an abandoned antique shop.

* * *

Yaxley watched the chaos unfold, his shaking hands clasped behind his back as the building burnt down; the last foundations of the base turning to nothing more than dust. The compound had been well protected, to be honest; the wards old and solid against their enemies. Of course, no one stood a chance against his Lord. He'd left one person alive for interrogation before killing the man, ordering his Death Eaters to execute the rest. Another group of twenty or so wizards and witches had been killed without mercy.

Their hidden base was disintegrating before his eyes. And on a normal occasion it should have delighted him to see his Lord's enemies fall like this. However, nothing these days could be called normal.

The Dark Lord's ire was returning, similar to his state of mind during the first war. No one dared to say a word, though. But he wondered. What had caused this? Surely it wasn't just because of Harry Potter.

The brat had quite obviously worked with Dumbledore and his lackeys. No surprise there. In fact, his Lord must have counted on Potter's rebellion at some point, if only to expose any and every potential ally the Potter heir had in this game.

And he had a lot.

It was disgusting how many fully grown wizards and witches fell over themselves as soon as the boy's name was uttered.

The kid had managed to force himself into the minds and hearts of many powerful people, simply just by existing. Not only had his public conference gone around, appearing in various newspapers around Europe, but even some Death Eaters had been reluctantly impressed during the meeting at Malfoy manor.

Still, the boy had been arrogant and still was; so foolhardy to make a bargain with his Lord in such a drastic fashion. Potter, for all his apparent knowledge and useful resources, had no idea how to play this game like an adult. That was to be expected, of course.

His mistakes had been beneficial for his Lord, Yaxley thought. None of this would have been possible without Potter's deal, after all.

He'd handed over the set of wands, which useless in their hands, still served them well. It was ingenious really. After some extensive research on his Lord's command, they had all been assigned to destroy them one by one. And not in the conventional way.

His Lord had found out that every single wand was solely crafted to rid the user of his magic by using one of them. A painful process to some, and utterly useless in case you were a Dark Arts practitioner. With Potter's advice, his Lord had figured out that only Light magic users tended to be affected, especially of the powerful kind. At first, they wouldn't feel much, thinking that these items were like any other wand, but eventually the wands would rebel against their users.

Which led them to their targets. People of reputation and skill, compelled into getting their magic sucked right out of them, rendering them squibs or dead in the process. His Lord had managed to get rid of some of the Bones family members and even people rumored to be part of Dumbledore's foreign relations just by giving the wands up.

And it was so simple really. Potter had been right. The wands choose the wizard, and that meant his side had destroyed every single one just by handing them over to people 'worthy' enough of them. That is to say, circulating them across the most reputable wand shops in Europe -Ollivander and Gregorovitch being the exception- and tracking down their new "owners". Children who started school, but even adults who had a reason to get another wand.

Those owners eventually fell, but their magic did not. And so each and every wand fulfilled its purpose and simply cracked without having the Elder Wand repairing the damage. As for the magic that had been stolen. His Lord had surmised that its force either transferred to the owner of the Elder Wand, or the leader of the Unsullied, the one who controlled the wandmakers responsible for this mess.

It also told them another story. The current owner of the Elder Wand was on the Light side, as the Potter boy had predicted. And said owner was the target of the current leader. Someone who wasn't part of the Light.

Another proof had been Bulgaria.

A couple of months ago, a group of wizards and 'scientists' had been tasked to target Potter, eventually luring the boy into the new stronghold of their little group.

And every single member disappeared after that, with not a soul left behind. If it hadn't been for the backup his Lord had tortured into giving up information, their side would have never even known that Potter had been in trouble back then.

But really, that Potion the group had come up with? Snape had been reluctantly impressed, though it wasn't surprising. The Unsullied, or the association, as people nowadays called them (apparently the group preferred not to be named at all), have been acting in the background before the rise of his Lord's power. Even before the rise of the First Dark Lord. They'd been researching, kidnapping and doing all kinds of bothersome things in the past to influence the flow of time and society. But they must have also broken one of their core principles lately; that is, to never ally themselves to a Dark Lord.

Really, it was all so obvious now.

"So we're going to Nurmengard," Greengrass whispered, standing beside him and watching the fire consume the last vestiges of their victims.

Yaxley frowned, though he didn't reply. They both knew that they'd be fighting against another Dark Lord soon. Looking ahead, he noticed that Snape stood somewhat apart from the rest, but his head was tilted to the side, as if making sure what was going on around him at all times. Paranoid bastard. He looked tense.

Yaxley narrowed his eyes, not liking this at all.

* * *

"Wake up, Potter." Someone grabbed his shoulder and started to shake him. Harry muttered something, still asleep.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake." A wand suddenly poked him and before he knew it, Harry was drenched in cold water.

""Fuck," Harry cursed, suddenly wide awake, his eyes adjusting to the light, only to come face to face with a rather annoyed-looking Mercia. He groaned.

"What was that for?"

She rolled his eyes, pointing at their surroundings. "I think this isn't the best place to take a nap, Harry," the girl said, and Harry drew his wand in order to dry himself. Raising his eyebrows, he noticed that she'd called him by his first name, something Mercia had always been reluctant to do.

And she was right. Apparently he'd fallen asleep in the training room, leaving himself vulnerable to his classmates, if they decided to prank him for whatever reason. That had never happened to Harry. He swore not to make that mistake again. But then he'd been exhausted after their latest duelling session. Practicing both light and dark magic outside the stuff they taught them in class tended to have that effect on him, since he often overestimated his own strength. It wasn't good for your body to practice curses that shouldn't be practiced before you turned 17. It was something their teachers always warned them about. But when did he ever listen?

"Anyway, I woke you, because someone asked me to tell you to meet him in the abandoned corridor on the second floor. He said it's important," Mercia explained, though she looked a bit hesitant.

"Really?" Harry caught the way her shoulders tensed. Now this was interesting. Apparently, that someone must be unpleasant, given her reaction.

"It's eh, it's Krum."

Okay.

This wasn't something he had expected at all.

Withholding a sigh, he didn't meet her eyes, his mood inevitably turning dark. It was enough to know his former friend decided to talk to him now. After months of silence, suddenly he deemed it important enough to grace Harry with his presence. Fuck that.

"I knew you wouldn't like it. I told him to ask you, instead of using me. He didn't listen," Mercia said, running a hand through her hair. She looked as frustrated as he felt.

"Of course, he wouldn't listen." Harry grimaced. "He always does whatever he wants."

Krum had always done that, speaking his mind and hardly listening to others. It was what led him to approach Harry in the first place, when no one else had wanted to. Initially, it had been something Harry admired, because he struggled with that; couldn't be so blasé about people and their opinions of him.

Krum wasn't like that at all, despite being a celebrity just like Harry.

"Will you go?" Mercia inquired softly.

Pressing his lips together, Harry lowered his gaze. Would he? Maybe it was worth it, if only to get a reasonable explanation out of the Bulgarian. But then, he had the tendency to forgive people. But he couldn't allow that to continue, if he wanted to stay alive.

He had so many things to do. So much to learn. He shouldn't get distracted by 'friends' who could betray him for others in a heartbeat. He needed to learn how to put himself first.

"We'll see." Harry laid his hand on the table, lost in thought. The girl nodded in understanding.

"Oh and by the way, there's a letter for you." Mercia rummaged in her pockets, before pulling out an envelope. "The headmaster has already checked it for curses and everything."

Reaching out, Harry took it, instantly noticing that it looked rather expensive. He didn't like that their new headmaster was continuing the tradition, apparently doing it to protect him on Minister Farnes' orders.

Opening it, Harry's eyes swiftly took in the familiar handwriting and he felt as if someone had forced acid down his throat with every word he read.

Fuck. Oh fuck. He was in so much trouble.  _They_  were in so much trouble.

"What is it?" She frowned, noticing Harry's strong reaction. He didn't have time to explain it, though. Everything suddenly became much more complicated, although he should have expected it. Should have prepared himself and planned better for this.

"I need to talk to someone. I'll see you later," Harry replied, swiftly pocketing the letter, before turning around and sprinting out of the room, leaving Mercia standing there, confused and alarmed.

This is so bad, he thought, as he took turns and shortcuts, the portraits shouting after him in indignation. But he ignored everything around him, his mind too preoccupied with the consequences of his Horcrux link. He didn't know how Riddle would react to the letter, but Harry hoped he had an actual plan, because they had both expected this outcome for some time now, simply hoping for more time.

But the confrontation would happen soon.

Because Lord Voldemort wasn't merciful. And never would be.

Barging inside the office, he didn't bother with such things as politeness. It was convenient that no wards were stopping Harry from entering unannounced, though he wouldn't be surprised if that wasn't the case for everyone else in this school, including the headmaster.

Riddle's office was shrouded in darkness for the most part, the jars the only source of light inside the spacious room. And there he was, sitting in his chair and eyeing Harry with something akin to amusement.

Harry caught a brief glimpse of the book cover in Riddle's hands, aware that the man was still researching the link between them and trying to find a way how to destroy it. It was a book on soul magic, one Harry recognized but hadn't managed to read yet.

"We have a problem." Approaching the desk, he swiftly took the letter and handed it over to Riddle without another word.

Riddle hummed, taking the parchment and reading the letter with an air of disinterest, as if he'd expected that already.

"You'll have to come with me, you know," Harry said, not bothering to wait for a reaction. He still hated the fact that the link prevented him from going anywhere without Riddle on his toes. If he wanted to leave for Godric's Hollow, he would have to take the bastard with him.

"I don't see the problem." Riddle's fingers drummed against the surface of his desk, the letter already forgotten, put aside as if it didn't matter that Voldemort wanted to meet Harry as soon as possible, as per their contract. "I've made plans for that outcome. It's you who didn't bother to prepare himself, opting to antagonize my Other Self further."

Harry dismissed the veiled insult, relieved that Riddle actually had a plan. He'd done what was necessary and he'd achieved his goal, making the pure-bloods doubt their master's power, discrediting him in their eyes. Voldemort couldn't do much to punish Harry. And the things he could do would never break the Potter heir. He wouldn't allow it.

"You won't meet him face to face Tom. I won't let you." Harry stared at Riddle, dead serious. Riddle would come with him, but he'd be damned if allowed the Horcrux to have a chat with his master soul.

If anything, his words seemed to amuse the man even more. He smirked, dark satisfaction coiled around his every movement; it made the hairs on the back of Harry's neck stand up. Riddle leaned forward slightly, steepled fingers supporting his chin while his elbows rested on the polished desk, arms bent upward.

"You won't let me," Riddle mocked. "I'd like to see you try."

Harry scowled. "I know you. Somehow you'll find a way to stab me in the back." Ignoring Riddle's raised eyebrows, he continued, slapping his hands on the desk. "Who knows, maybe this is all some sort of master plan of yours. As soon as you see him, you two will get all chummy, drinking Butterbeer and watching as poor Harry Potter gets the short end of the stick, as usual."

The man sneered, perhaps finding the idea of Voldemort and himself drinking Butterbeer just as disturbing as Harry.

Well, it didn't matter. Besides, Harry didn't really believe Tom would ally himself with Voldemort as soon as possible. He would maybe pretend to be on his side, but Harry had no doubts about Tom's ambitions. And Voldemort was the same. He'd never consider anyone his equal, not even his own Horcrux.

They stared at each other in silence, each of them planning how to turn this situation into their favor. Harry wouldn't let Tom ruin it all. He couldn't allow Voldemort to know about them. Sure, the man would have more reason to keep Harry alive, but Harry wouldn't be turned into an experimental pet, or slave.

He had his own ambitions now. His own goals that went beyond mere survival. He'd need to leave Durmstrang for that. He needed to explore the world, surround himself with both sides in this war and more. He needed to find out where exactly he stood in this conflict. In short, he needed to learn what he wanted to be in the future, what he wanted to believe in. And what was best for him and the wizarding world.

Being neutral was pretty lame and boring, after all.


	28. Interpreting the painting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I'm back. :) The last months were not exactly easy, but I'm back to writing, so that's good news, hehe. Regular updating should resume now. Thanks for all your lovely messages and support. I hope you like this chapter. A bit shorter, though. Sorry for that.

Fire crackling, the scent of something foreign, almost uncanny lingering in the air; Harry let himself relax, although it certainly wasn't easy with Riddle keeping him company. Still, the Horcrux acted like Harry's presence was irrelevant, a small annoyance, but not worth paying more attention to. The man was reading another book, too engrossed with the material to keep an eye on him. It suited Harry just fine. More than fine, actually.

If anything, it made observing Riddle easier. And that was something, he never tired of.

Clenching his hands, Harry's eyes took in everything. From the crossed legs to the lean form, hand occasionally moving to turn another page. Riddle's head was lowered and no defining emotion crossed his expression, no visible twitch of the lips or even a thoughtful frown like one would expect. Tom Riddle, Lord Voldemort was like a painting, trapped inside another young man's body that wasn't his and would end up discarded soon. A mere shadow of the real Voldemort, Harry thought. But still powerful in his own way. Powerful but different. Harry knew that the Horcrux and the master soul were mentally almost the same age, minus the years Voldemort spend without a body while this one was trapped inside Harry.

"You're staring."

Riddle didn't raise his head to look at him, but his voice was sharp enough to startle Harry somewhat.

Affecting boredom, Harry mirrored the man's posture.

"Does it bother you?" he asked, lips twitching. Really, this person had been a part of Harry's life for so long, it was only fair to get to know Voldemort a bit, if only to use that knowledge against him in the future. Annoying him was a bonus, of course.

Dark eyes met his, amusement tinged with something like mockery.

"Everything you do these days bothers me, Potter," he said. "But I suppose that's to be expected when you're stuck babysitting unruly children, especially the Boy-Who-Lived."

"Very funny," Harry huffed. Making a sweeping motion, he stood, taking the letter he left on Riddle's desk. The Horcrux's eyes followed his movements. "Let me know if you plan on joining your master soul anytime soon. Just in case I need to tighten the leash on you."

Heading for the door, he disregarded the man's interested expression. Riddle wouldn't curse him for his impertinence, though. There were too many eyes on Harry and he had more allies inside the castle than the unknown 'Professor', charming as he was.

"You've grown taller, Harry."

Harry stilled, fingers curling around the handle.

Refusing to turn around and humor the man, Harry shrugged. "And you might have heard of it. It's called puberty. Lucky for you, I won't be a child that you have to babysit for much longer," he shot back.

"Lucky me, indeed." Riddle smiled, staring at the spot Harry had left.

* * *

Months went by and training resumed, although the whole Auror business was more constrained inside the castle than anywhere else. Harry still took each and every opportunity to master his magic, if only to get used to fight with a different wand rather than the Rowan one and using wandless magic at a level that would make him get accustomed to the constant drain. He was proficient enough already, but if you had Dark Lords as enemies, proficient just didn't cut it.

Auror Rendahl occasionally left the castle to report back to his superior in the department, including Minister Farnes, but no reports whatsoever about Voldemort's movements reached his ears these days. Harry could only think of a tidal wave, with ups and downs, attack and retreat tactics that left him on edge for the most part.

School was a tedious distraction. Christmas had passed with no particular excitement, considering Harry had stayed at Durmstrang, thus forcing Riddle to stay there, too. On the other hand, Voldemort's invitation hung over their heads like a Damocles sword. Riddle, of course, was acting totally unconcerned, but even he was under pressure to find a new body, or make himself a new one, if that was possible.

Harry however dreaded the end of the school year, what with Voldemort's impervious command to meet him. Sure, Harry had managed to piss him off, but the man's moods were unstable, at best. The only comfort Harry took in was the fact that Voldemort couldn't hurt him; even if it was all too clear now that Harry had all but declared that he was working with Dumbledore on some level.

Dumbledore was another issue he'd have to deal with eventually. His questionable position with regards to Grindelwald could pose some trouble in the future. And there was that tiny, not insubstantial fact that Harry suspected the former Dark Lord of draining magic from other people. For what purpose, if not to free himself and become more powerful than Dumbledore and subsequently Lord Voldemort?

Sometimes, all Harry could do was sit in the emptiness of his dorm and stare for hours at his Rowan wand, thinking that it was near impossible that an insignificant witch could have caused that much damage. For him, more than Voldemort.

Certainly, nothing Yassine had done had destroyed the man in a way she supposedly desired. And of course, she was no Peverell. Hell, she wasn't even an Ollivander. So what did this particular wand really do to him?

Did she suspect that Harry had been a Horcrux? Did Karkaroff suspect it? After all, it was him who had delivered Harry into the arms of two association members, knowingly.

And what did the two wandmakers and even their bloody cult really feel for their master? Did they blindly obey a former Dark Lord, despite the fact that Dark Lords had been targeted right from the start? Was he even their leader? How did the Deathly Hallows factor into their goals?

And why was his magic so important for Grindelwald?

There were so many things still left in the dark, but without demanding answers from the old man, Harry had no way of finding out the truth.

And there was the issue of the real Elder Wand and becoming the Master of Death.

Where was it?

Time was running out and he had no clues whatsoever or any idea how to even destroy the Horcrux link, so he could finally start searching on his own without Riddle breathing down his neck.

In any case, he would just have to be prepared to face whatever was thrown at him and that's what Harry would do. Prepare himself.

The first week of April had been filled with more school work and the occasional attempts at small talk on Krum's part. The boy had been terrible at it, though. Harry had talked to him months ago, finally squeezing out the truth about his supposed betrayal, only to find out that his family had indeed been threatened by the association, to the point that his father had been briefly kidnapped, forcing Krum to listen and obey.

Krum had been forced to tell these people everything he knew about Harry, that is to say, everything he had learned; stuff that hadn't been protected by the school's oath. Apparently, these people had wanted to learn about the extent of Harry's magical capabilities, before ripping his soul to pieces. Hell, he was sure they could have found a way to circumvent the oath with a bit more prodding.

Harry had found out later that Norway's Auror department had freed several hostages, including Krum's father. The entire family was now under Norway's protection, after Bulgaria's ministry had been compromised. And it also explained why Krum was so agitated these days. He knew somehow that the person currently teaching the Dark Arts at Durmstrang was a threat, though the man didn't act like the former host of the body. Krum was suspicious why Harry was spending his time with another association member.

In the end, however, none of that mattered to him. Harry couldn't quite return to the way things were with his almost-friend. Though, he sometimes wished for it.

Actually, he kind of wished for a different life, with different people in it. At this point, Harry could without a doubt say that Durmstrang was no longer as appealing as it had once been.

Sure, he could train a lot, had all the resources at his disposal. The teachers didn't bother him anymore, except for Riddle; and the headmaster was decent.

But that didn't take away from the stark emptiness that had taken over his life, that gaping, big nothing inside his body and mind.

Eileen had once called it depression.

The only thing left for him to do was to change. Either by changing his stance on the war, which he'd already done in the privacy of his own mind. Or simply changing his environment.

It seems he would never get to finish his education at Durmstrang...

* * *

"Do you like it here?" Harry asked, walking to the Potions classroom. Mercia was uncharacteristically silent these days.

"You mean school?" She raised her eyebrows, dodging a group of first years, while they were walking down the corridor. The noise around them was grating.

"Yeah." Adjusting his book bag, Harry crossed the threshold, finally reaching the classroom. Taking two seats in the back row, he sighed. "Durmstrang had its limits, in a way."

"Probably." Mercia nodded, taking out her books. "My uncle still keeps pestering me about leaving. And it doesn't help that the war is already underway. I think he just worries that I might get stabbed in the back simply because my last name is Robards." Smiling wryly, she shot Harry a look. "There are too many Dark wizards who hold a grudge against him. The only thing he's happy about is that you are here."

Harry chuckled. "I'm the bigger target, right?" It was true. If there were any Dark wizards at Durmstrang still left, who held a grudge against London-based Aurors, Dumbledore and the light side in general, they would be only too happy to take it all out on Harry.

"Pretty much. I'm completely safe, as long as you paint the bigger target on your back." Mercia grinned, leaning back to watch the other students. "Honestly, he just seems to think that everyone here pretty much salivates at the thought of serving the Dark Lord."

Grimacing a bit, Harry thought about Riddle's growing sway over the school's population... If only she knew.

"Anyway, the school is fine, better than it was two years ago. But you're probably right. There are limits," she said.

Harry's eyes narrowed, thoughts swirling with problems. "We're being sheltered."

Both observed the laughing kids around them, the superior and arrogant smirks of some of the more notorious Pure-bloods.

"It's more than that, even," Mercia whispered. "We don't really know what's like out there." Harry did know, to some degree. But she was right.

Mercia's smile looked bitter. "We've been prepared for it in a very extreme way by the former headmaster. But it's one thing to learn curses and stuff. And another thing to deal with the people who decide your fate, or the fate of your family. And I mean, not just magically. But politics." Her hands clenched and Harry could sense her frustration, could feel his own emotions getting tangled in that mess of plans for the future.

"I envy you, Potter." Her eyes met his for a moment, before she turned away to stare at their Potions Professor, who had entered the classroom. "You get to tango with all the important people and all I have is a bunch of crappy teachers telling me to do my homework."

The admission was surprising. Harry looked at her, really looked at the girl in a way he'd never bothered to before. She was afraid. Afraid of the future in much the same way he was. And perhaps she wasn't the only one. Perhaps the others in their year and some older students looked at Harry for guidance, because he was the only link to a reality they only experienced during their holidays. And not even that, for most of them.

"It's not that great, really," Harry began carefully, needing to ground them both in reality. "Hardly anyone takes me seriously."

"But you get to practice and that's the important part." Shaking her head, she regarded Harry with a solemn expression. "One day you will gain so much experience that people will eventually be forced to respect you, if only for the knowledge that you have of the real world outside, of the people dealing with it. And I mean not just dark or light wizards. But everyone. And that's what you should aim for." Mercia smirked. "That's what I'm aiming for."

Harry knew she was right.

"Let's be thankful we're not Hogwarts students, at least," he whispered back, grinning, attempting to lighten the mood. "Now that's what I would call sheltered. What is their school song again? Hoggy-Warty-Hogwarts?"

Mercia almost burst out laughing, earning a disapproving glance from their Professor.

"Well, at least they are quite close to the action," she mouthed, as soon as his back was turned. "Norway is still so removed from all the war business. With the exception of the ministry in Oslo, everything the Dark Lord does, seems to focus on London."

"Well, he does need to take over Britain first, before moving elsewhere," Harry replied, thinking of Voldemort's boundless ambitions. The man faced so much relentless opposition and yet he still had no limits when it came to his own ego and desire to control everyone else.

It could only go wrong, what with the Muggle world outnumbering the wizarding world by far. If Voldemort had no boundaries, then others would set them for him. Harry hoped to be one of those people, finally free from the wizard's looming shadow.

"Speaking of Britain, Danielle wrote me," Mercia said, carefully keeping an eye on the others. "Apparently, her mother has temporarily left Germany to work at the Department of Mysteries in London. She heard a few interesting things about the Dark Lord and those terrorists in Bulgaria. Said it's top secret stuff."

"Which is why she obviously felt the need to to tell you everything," Harry replied, feeling a bit sad that the girl hadn't contacted him at all.

"She wanted to, but her mom could't tell her more. Didn't want to, I think." Squinting, Mercia picked up her book.

Instructions appeared on the board, though thankfully it was a theoretical lesson, so they wouldn't have to brew anything.

"In any case, I'll try to ask my uncle. Perhaps we should visit the ministry during the holidays."

Harry nodded. Yes, perhaps he could arrange another meeting with Dumbledore. All this waiting and not knowing was driving him crazy these days.

The door was suddenly banged open and to his horror, Riddle strode in, eyes instantly landing on him in a way that made Harry's stomach drop. No. He just knew what this was about.

The Potions Professor peered at him.

"Is there something that you need, Thomas?"

"Mr. Potter. My office, now," he said, ignoring everyone else.

Slowly, Harry stood, ignoring Mercia's concerned look, picking up his bag and marching right out the door as if he was heading for a death sentence. He knew.

The door closed behind him, cutting off the murmurs and speculations, which left Harry and Riddle alone in the corridor.

Riddle flicked his borrowed wand, erecting a privacy ward.

Shit, it was serious. Harry's heartbeat sped up and he met Riddle's gaze, locking eyes with the Horcrux who was challenging him, daring him to make his move.

"My other self decided to finally meet Lord Grindelwald. His army is currently heading for Nurmengard," the soul piece informed him calmly.

How he knew, Harry had no idea. Everything inside him screamed trap. Trap and betrayal and  _don't do it_. Don't go. You'll find your answers elsewhere. And a name suddenly sprung up, a name Harry thought could solve this mess.

Dumbledore. They needed to contact Dumbledore. And once they did, the pieces on the board would surely rearrange themselves. But could Harry force Riddle to go with him to meet the esteemed headmaster? What if he came too late and Voldemort would somehow kill Grindelwald? Would that solve his problems? After all, what was an army without their leader, if he even was the one? But then, what about the Elder Wand?

Harry steeled himself for another confrontation. One, in which he would need to attempt to play all the other players. He was already suspicious of Riddle's motives, encouraging Harry to go there. The man's slight shaking of his hands had been indication enough.

"Let's go." Harry smiled. Nurmengard would have to wait.


	29. Farewell, Better Half

His invisibility cloak was hidden inside his robes' pocket, away from Riddle's eyes. He'd also taken his Rowan wand with him. Nevertheless, with Riddle now patiently waiting for Harry in order to take him to Nurmengard, there wasn't much he could do. Delaying it all was not an option.

His nemesis wouldn't take no for an answer.

Of course, they could duel it out, but Harry didn't delude himself into thinking he could possibly overpower the Dark Lord in this state.

Sometimes it still boggled his mind how that 'thing', a fragment of his parents' murderer could have lived inside him for so long. The implications of that alone should have petrified Harry. But cowering in fear and waiting for the inevitable just wasn't his thing. Those days were behind him.

Riddle's time was running out, though. The body he'd taken was growing rapidly weaker with the onslaught of foreign magic, not stable enough for a Horcrux that had been forcefully ripped out of its container. For a moment, Harry had considered trying to overpower Riddle physically, before dragging the dark wizard to Dumbledore. But luckily there was another solution. A much easier one that didn't involve as many risks. Or so he hoped.

Harry's lips curled up.

Honestly, being enslaved to a Horcrux, practically forced to do his bidding, sucked. Curling his hand around his wand, Harry took a deep breath, stepping outside. He wanted to end this.

The air inside the castle was blissfully cool against his skin, keeping his mind relatively clear. He needed to focus, if he wanted to beat both Voldemort and the Horcrux in their twisted game.

Leaning against the wall, Riddle was already assessing Harry, dominating and insistent in a way that was still frustrating to the younger wizard, although he'd somewhat gotten used to it. Perhaps it was a necessary requirement for Dark Lords these days to be broody and impatient.

"Took you long enough," the Dark Lord stated calmly, eyeing Harry's stiff form, his expression veiled as usual.

Harry shrugged, tiniest smirk in place. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Tom."

There it was. That twitch of his lips, the raised eyebrows. The man certainly liked to pretend he wasn't affected. If all it took was Voldemort's real name to rile him up, Harry would oblige, of course.

Grinning, the young wizard followed the man outside.

As of now, Harry had a good idea what would happen, although he'd initially wanted to postpone his visit to the famous wizarding prison. It was necessary to play along, for now, to make himself appear eager to get answers. It's what he had always done. But Harry had learned his lessons after those disastrous times where he'd been forced to visit Voldemort. Or that time he'd intentionally confronted the perpetrators during his hearing, only to fall prey to the association. It was never good to rush into things, despite the fact that his instinct rarely betrayed Harry. He always knew when a trap was set up. Still, he'd often been too arrogant for his own good, assuming that a bit of planning and direct attacks against his opponents would make it easier to navigate around these traps.

On top of that, he'd always envisioned that his contract with Voldemort would make things difficult for him. Perhaps the thrill had enticed him, luring Harry into this idea of total control over something that couldn't be controlled. It had been fascinating, really.

Still, he needed to have a clear position in this war, outside of Voldemort's influence. Outside of anyone's, really. And for that to happen, he would also have to make it clear once and for all, that he wasn't Voldemort's minion. This contract, a lifeline really, had given him a couple of months, at most. But in the end it turned out that Voldemort planned to kill Harry right after sorting out the mess with the association, which could take years, really. Or a few days, depending on the strength of his Death Eaters. Harry had never truly been threatened, up until now. Voldemort had simply considered it necessary to get rid of other people first, even more so with the revelation of the prophecy. Apparently, the "power he knows not" part wasn't that strong of an argument for the man.

At the same time, he'd shackled Harry, forced him to put his life on hold until the very end. A life that had so far only consisted of training, school work and a bit of scheming that hadn't done him much good.

Unfortunately for Voldemort, the Horcrux had added another layer of conflict, making Harry aware that he'd have to die as a sacrificial lamb anyway. Really, that was all the power the prophecy had talked about. Disappointing.

He'd need to get rid of the contract and the Horcrux link. And Riddle.

Walking across the courtyard, Harry had a hard time keeping up with Riddle's stride. Eyes narrowed, he observed the confident steps. The bastard was eager to get to Grindelwald, wasn't he?

The glance in his direction made him smile and confirmed Harry's impression. A Dark Lord, whose existence depended on Harry was no fun, really.

"You know. I could force those secrets out of you," Riddle said, quickening his steps. "The only question I'm asking myself now is whether it's worth the effort." Pale lips twitched. "Though, perhaps calling it an effort is a bit exaggerated, don't you think?"

"Don't hold back on my account." Harry grinned, briefly meeting Riddle's inquisitive look. "Your better half wouldn't do it either."

"You tempt me," Riddle murmured, shaking his head, expression oddly serene for someone who was in a hurry. "Be careful with that, child."

They had almost reached the edge of Durmstrang's wards and no one had bothered them on the way out, which Harry thought was suspicious. Classes weren't over yet, but some students and professors should already be heading for dinner. Riddle must have done something.

Once outside, Harry looked up, wondering whether the rapidly approaching darkness would look the same in the southern part of Germany, where Nurmengard was located.

Maybe he was just fooling himself, treating the Horcrux with forced cockiness the way he was doing now. What Harry was about to do could change his life. Or end it, depending on the outcome. The older wizard would be furious, no matter what.

Just like before, they walked past another group of trees and Harry felt the magic around him fade away, leaving both wizards defenseless against any potential onslaught from outside. In a minute or so, the headmaster would be alerted to a missing student and a professor. But at this point, Harry thought that the school should get used to it, what with him disappearing all the time.

And perhaps they should also start looking for a new Dark Arts professor.

Pity.

Voldemort had been a good Dark Arts teacher, efficient and knowledgable; much better than Regulus Black with his disregard, unstable attitude and all. And while it had taken considerable effort to convince Minister Farnes and the school board to let an unknown man teach at Durmstrang, with her none the wiser, it had paid off in the end.

Finally they stopped, hidden in the shadows. The stifling atmosphere of Durmstrang's castle fell away to even stronger, oppressive darkness. Riddle had swiftly taken Harry's hand, forcing him into a Side-Along apparition.

Bloody hell.

Reappearing in a forest, Harry tried to get rid of the nausea temporarily taking his breath away. It was always the same. The adrenaline inside him made it difficult to focus. He should have created a portkey in cases like this, since he was now basically stranded with a Dark Lord in the middle of nowhere. Though, he was certain that his house-elves would be able to take him away, should he land himself in a tight spot.

Which arguably was the case now. He grimaced.

Despite the unknown surroundings, Harry could already guess they were in Germany, though they would still have to get to Nurmengard by foot due to the extensive Anti-Apparition wards surrounding the area. Or maybe they would be using broomsticks. Merlin knows what kind of scheme Riddle had concocted.

Harry turned around, inhaling the slightly humid air and sensing the emptiness that seemed to swirl all around the forest. No signs of life whatsoever could be heard. No birds, no whispering of the forest's inhabitants. It increased his unease, false cheerfulness falling apart as quickly as it had come, a sandcastle swept away by waves of anxiety. Fear of the unknown.

Nurmengard prison was legendary, although Harry couldn't recall ever having read a more extensive account of the place. While Azkaban and other wizarding prisons around the world had fascinated a great deal of people, making them write tons of books about the enchantments and guards such as Dementors and even meremaids, as was the case with one prison in South America. Nurmengard however remained bleak, an empty chapter in history with only a footnote saying that you couldn't visit the place. Perhaps that had been intentional. The German wizarding government had been notoriously tight-lipped about it all. Those that had visited the outskirts of the building had reported that the very air you breathed seemed to contain evil. Harry had found it funny at that time. They must have taken their inspirations from Mordor.

Now there was nothing funny about the situation.

Grindelwald must have been all for drama and striking terror in the hearts of his enemies, which is why nothing in this area seemed to be natural. Still, Harry wouldn't let such mind games affect him. He couldn't allow himself to be affected, especially not in Riddle's presence.

Speaking of Riddle, the man seemed to feel right at home, inspecting the area with a nonchalance that both irritated and frightened Harry.

"We'll fly," Riddle spoke suddenly.

"Excuse me?" Harry looked up, catching Riddle's wry amusement. Looking around, he noticed that no brooms had appeared or anything like that. "And how are we supposed to-"

Harry stopped, staring at Riddle's outstretched hand.

Oh no. No.

Just no.

He would  _not fly with Riddle_. He would not put his life in the hands of an unstable Horcrux.

Riddle, seeing Harry's reaction, barely refrained from rolling his eyes. "I thought you liked flying?"

"On a broom," Harry said, deadpan. "Not with you flying around like some sort of vigilante. I don't have a death wish."

"Really?" That raised eyebrow again. Tom stepped closer, invading Harry's personal space without warning. The younger wizard opened his mouth, but Riddle's unrelenting stare seemed to choke him, breath taken away. "Unfortunately for you, I don't take your concerns into account," he hissed. Harry's eyes widened.

Strong arms encased him, cutting off any protests. He cursed internally. He hadn't taken Voldemort's ability to fly into account, though he'd yet to see it for himself. Merlin knows, where the bastard had learned to do something like that.

Right now, he didn't feel like Riddle's control over that young man's body was waning. In fact, his feet lifted off the ground and Harry began to panic.

"Hold onto me," Riddle whispered in his ear, his head turned down, hair brushing against Harry's cheek. And then they were flying.

The trees became small and the air around them sharpened, wind clashing against the speed of Riddle's abilities. As they flew on, above them Harry could see the sky darkening further, stars scattered like glowing, eyes, looking down at the unlikely pair. It was strangely peaceful, reminding Harry of his own love for flying, those innocent days when Viktor Krum used to nag him about Quidditch.

Inadvertently, Harry felt his own limbs moving without permission, fingers tightening, gripping the material of Riddle's cloak with such force that blared uneasiness. He couldn't forget the company he was in, the situation that would escalate soon. He couldn't force himself to focus on pleasant memories when everything around him screamed that this was all over.

As they flew toward a towering building, standing forbidding and grim, casting a dark shadow over the trees and hills, Harry braced himself for the inevitable. Sooner rather than later, they began to loose height and Harry closed his eyes, burying his face in Riddle's cloak and savoring the calm before the storm.

The arms around him tightened for a moment.

Rather than landing somewhere near the entrance, Riddle chose a small pathway leading to a high wall somewhere on the east side, where the trees grew dense. Harry nearly stumbled, when those arms let him go abruptly, but he hurriedly tried to put some distance between himself and the Dark Lord, somewhat unsettled.

Running a hand though his hair, he looked around, finally noticing that the silence around this place was even more unnatural than before. If there were any Death Eaters or association members inside the building, they were obviously clever enough not to make any noise.

Now the only thing left to figure out was how well protected the prison was.

He waited and waited. And looked around further, heart beating so fast Harry thought it would burst out of his chest.

Then he felt it.

A wand was pointed at him, digging firmly into the back of his head.

Of course.

Harry steeled himself for the confrontation, refusing to turn around or reveal that he'd purposefully turned his back to Riddle, lowering his defenses. The wand briefly caressed his neck, warm with the magic threatening to strike him.

"That isn't very polite, Professor," Harry began, staring at the wall. He knew he wouldn't be fast enough to reach for his own wand, so he didn't even try. Besides, it wasn't the right moment. Not yet.

He hadn't sensed the original master soul yet, wondering if maybe Voldemort wouldn't come at all.

"I strongly suggest that you move, Harry."

Pressing his lips together, Harry remained still, hands loosely at his side. Riddle tsked and the magic inside his borrowed wand crackled, making the black strands of Harry's hair even more disorderly.

"You won't kill me, Riddle," Harry began. "You need me alive, remember? There's nothing short of torture that you could do in order to make me comply. So why don't we get it out of the way?"

Turning his head sideways, he let Riddle's wand graze his cheek, waiting for his next move. Riddle, just like Voldemort, was unpredictable, although his emotions often presented a sharp contrast to the Dark Lord, calmer and dare he say, gentler?

There was nothing gentle about having a wand pressed against his skin, of course, ready to blow his head off or something like that. But from the corner of his eyes, he spotted the insistent yet pacified nature that seemed to permanently define the man's posture. Riddle was confident that Harry would obey.

Well. Let's see then.

The wards around the fortress fell, suddenly throwing the entire area into a sharp light of red and white, pulsing with energy, before everything disappeared completely.

"Right on time," Riddle whispered, smiling lazily. Then everything turned into chaos. Shouts could be heard, explosions and the beginning of what sounded like a multiple battles occurring at once. Murmuring a spell, Riddle's wand briefly pointed at something in front of Harry. The younger wizard saw the stone wall disintegrate and knew without a doubt that this was his chance.

"Fawkes," Harry called, his hands curling around the holly wand inside his pocket.

Just as the word left his mouth, he felt Riddle's arm curling around his waist, forcing him closer to the Horcrux. But that was not enough, Harry thought, smiling in satisfaction, even though he was trapped.

A burst of fire erupted, appearing out of thin air. The magic was gentle, and the impressive phoenix let out a loud trill, taking another passenger with him.

Harry's smile grew twisted and he felt Riddle's grip on him tightening even more.

Albus Dumbledore stood in all his glory, hideous robes, wand in hand, facing the two of them with a sharp look, before his expression settled into one of utter seriousness.

"Very clever," Riddle murmured, cool fingers tightening around Harry's throat, while his wand was pointing straight at his neck. "You truly decided to put your faith in the old man. I must say I'm disappointed."

"Hello, Headmaster," Harry greeted, completely ignoring Riddle. "Thanks for coming."

"Any time, my boy." Dumbledore smiled at him, before his gaze fell on the Horcrux, pupils widening slightly in the light that his familiar produced. "Tom," he whispered, his brilliant mind having come to the right conclusion.

Riddle didn't flinch, didn't show any outward reaction, but the link between them told Harry that the dark wizard was a bit...unsettled. Good.

Behind them, the smoke and lights flashed, throwing both Harry and Tom's profiles into sharper contrast. Fakwes trilled in distress, settling down on Dumbledore's shoulder. Harry still couldn't feel Voldemort's presence nearby, but shouts, both in German and English could be heard. It could be possible that German Aurors were already fighting with Death Eaters, or even members of the association. Right now, he couldn't see much, though, what with Riddle's attempt to choke him.

"Let him go, Tom," Dumbledore said, the magic around him flaring to life. "Harry has nothing to do with Gellert. There's no reason for him to get involved in this."

A sharp laugh escaped Riddle, hot breath fanning Harry's cheeks. "On the contrary, he has everything to do with this." Tilting his head, Riddle considered Dumbledore with a frown. "But perhaps you like to delude yourself, old man. Perhaps you don't want to acknowledge that your old lover is after the boy's life force."

Harry stiffened, prepared to strike. His left arm free.

"Or perhaps, you can't see past your own hypocrisy. After all, we both know there really isn't that much of a difference between the two of you when it comes to Harry Potter's life."

Dumbledore paled considerably, before his blue eyes sharpened further. Harry had a hard time breathing, trapped between these two powerful wizards. Their magic was saturating the air with opposing, yet frighteningly similar power. Rarely did Harry feel threatened these days, but seeing and feeling the evidence of his own inadequate strength compared to that was hard. Difficult to accept.

The very idea that Riddle's magic somehow survived inside Harry's body, growing and overpowering the body he was currently inhabiting, disturbed him.

Dumbledore's wand was now pointed at Riddle, but he couldn't and perhaps didn't want to cast a spell, with Harry being entrapped like this, used as a shield.

Just as Harry was about to hit Riddle, Fawkes let out another sharp cry and from behind them Harry heard it clearly. The Dark Lord  _was here_. Many more voices joined the battle.

"He's attacking the cell's wards," someone shouted. "Stop him. For Merlin's sake, stop him."

Dumbledore's gaze wavered, indecision briefly crossing his expression. Harry watched in disbelief as the old man's head turned to stare in the direction of the prison.

It was all the distraction Tom needed.

With a sharp pop, they both Disapparated, leaving an alarmed Headmaster and his phoenix behind.

* * *

"Hurry up, Jon." The burly, bearded guard sneered at him, before turning away to inspect his colleagues' work, his demands still as unpleasant as ever. Not that it mattered. Everybody was too focused on their job, preferring to do everything at the same slow pace when transferring magic. The guards were only figureheads, really. They had no clue what it meant to do such exhausting, intellectually demanding work.

Watching dispassionately as the last bit of blood drained away from the victim, he held his syringe in steady, confident hands.

Jonathan Foss wouldn't call himself a sadist.

No, that term was reserved for people who possessed no clear vision, had nothing to offer other than their lust to hurt others. The guards, for example. Simple-minded, brute force. He could understand why they succumbed to it, of course. But he wasn't one of them. In fact, he despised sheep like that; he loathed people who occasionally acted on their impulses only to disappear in the herd, once their desires were fulfilled. Cowards. Addicted to violence, nothing more.

No, he was more than that. Better.

And that's why he had no qualms about doing what was necessary, even if it crossed certain...boundaries.

Boundaries were man-made, after all.

Some might say he was playing God. But then so was everyone else around him.

The corpse was displayed like an offering, limbs rearranged to make the transfer easier. The skin was cold and oddly soft, though perhaps the most grotesque thing about it was the fact that dozens of cables were puncturing the man's chest. Jon wiped his brow, before continuing.

The needle broke through the surface like a knife through butter, easily finding its target. Frowning a bit, he leaned over the body.

Hatred simmered beneath his own skin, while he continued to dissect his victim.

It was governments that called for social order. It was churches that played with people's minds. Muggle scientists who wanted to explain a world that couldn't be explained. Financial sectors that enslaved humans to their own greed, capitalists who spanned a tale of wish fulfillment, medical industries that pumped humans full of drugs. And yes, wizards and witches who strived to emulate Muggles while at the same time claiming superiority over them.

He'd been young then, only another face in a crowd of people at the ministry, thinking... no, hoping that he would contribute to this society in a meaningful way.

He'd been wrong, of course. But luckily, it was all in the past.

Now, he was more than a faceless slave to them.

No, Jonathan was an idea, every cell of his body vibrating with the need to change this corrupt, weakened. wretched world. Pathetic, that's what they all were. He knew it from experience, after having worked for so long at the ministry under people like Fudge. The wizarding world needed a makeover. A clear vision for the future.

Only then would the Muggle world adjust. Steady hands continued to extract the magic.

One could say his former life used to haunt him, having to put up with incompetent fools, needing to smile and nod every single time the former minister ordered him to do one mind-numbing thing after another. He would never forget the man's face. The clear disdain and arrogance he'd shown Jonathan after reading his request for a transferral to the Department of Mysteries. At that time, he'd been experienced enough, eager enough to join. Perhaps too naive to believe that he could trust the ministry to make use of his potential. Still, his motivation had kept him going for so long.

Fudge had scoffed, telling him in no unclear terms that he'd better get back to work.

He'd never forget that numb, cold shock, the sheer amount of disdain that had taken a hold of his soul at that moment. Three weeks later he'd handed in his resignation letter, after watching one of those incompetent pure-bloods getting the position he'd wanted for so long. Years of hard work turned to dust just because others had the connection, the money. The family name.

Looking back on it, Jon realized that it had been the right decision, although there was still room for improvement, considering who his new "boss" was.

Perhaps he was still a follower, part of the herd and as such not yet ready enough to play God the way he wanted to. But it wouldn't be long now.

Since joining the association, Jonathan had learned a lot about the wizarding world and the people controlling it. His vast knowledge of London's elite had paled in comparison to the stories from other members, people who were not part of the sheep anymore, but despised them all the same. Corruption ran deep all around Europe. Behind polite smiles, generous donations and empty promises, the wizarding world was filled with ugliness, tainted with human filth.

Fragmented governments and nations should have been a thing of the past, really, especially with countless Muggle wars that had been the cause of such overinflated sense of self. The us versus them mentality and class segregation kept people from truly reaching their potential, forever enslaved to the incompetency of their superiors.

Ironic that he was essentially fighting for a cause that put him firmly against wizards all around Europe, clinging to mistakes, living in ignorance of the world around them.

No, unity was better. A unified wizarding world, free of boundaries, departments and ministries, free of these fools would be better for all.

If it took a bit more bloodshed to end this, he was willing to go further.

Injecting another dose into the carcass, he watched in grim satisfaction as the body continued to transfer any leftovers of magical energy into his master. The cables around it were similar to Muggle inventions, penetrating the empty shells of wizards and witches, their corpses harvested for further use.

All around him, Jonathan could feel the green light caressing his being, licking at his senses, before disappearing to join their Lord. Magic, such a unique being.

Lowering his head, he kept his eyes closed, surrendering to his feelings.

Blond hair fell into his eyes, temporarily obscuring his vision. Cold sweat stuck to his pale skin.

Murmurs broke out amongst the crowd, as people kept adjusting the cables, fixing needles and vials. Behind him, he could feel a foreign cold creeping all over his body, the rustling form of the Dementors inside their prison shrieking madly, yet utterly silent to the humans present.

He hoped it was worth it.

True, he had his doubts concerning the leadership of the association. More often than not he managed to overhear people complaining, stating quite clearly that putting Lord Gellert Grindelwald in this position had been a mistake, a betrayal of their own ideals.

There were whispers, of people saying that they should replace Grindelwald. That he was simply too old to carry the burden of the New World. He'd ignored those, probably because the alternative sounded worse.

The name Harry Potter fell, conversations centering around the boy more often these days, after he'd made such a spectacle out of himself.

His survival and subsequent escape from death had sounded like a miracle to all of them, including Jonathan. Potter should have never been able to escape from Bulgaria, but the boy was still alive and kicking, proving to be a thorn in their side.

Yet still people felt that he could take over. Preposterous.

Highly intriguing.

Jon smirked. Looking up, he caught the frightened madness lingering in Igor Karkaroff's eyes, bound and gagged and ready to pay for his traitorous actions. Jon's colleague, an older man called Clarke kept his want pointed at the pathetic mess. Soon, there wouldn't be much left of Karkaroff.

Suddenly, the alarm went off and everyone present inside knew what this meant. The Dark Lord Voldemort was here.

Looking around, he caught one of the guard's eyes, nodding at him. Over the alarm, they could hardly be heard, but Jon picked up the words echoing inside the chamber that made his blood boil in excitement.

Not only was the Dark Lord present, but apparently someone has spotted Harry Potter being dragged off by one of their own to Grindelwald's cell. Perfect. Just perfect.


	30. And Be Trapped Again

_1980_

She was addicted to coffee.

It wouldn't be the only guilty pleasure she had indulged in and developed over the last couple of years, but coffee was perhaps the least damaging. Well, it wasn't entirely healthy either, but no one was there to judge her for it. No one, but _him_.

Curling her fingers around the porcelain, Carolina Yassine stared at the murky substance before taking another sip, wanting to savor every drop. A small moment of peace.

Placing the mug into the sink, she turned around, leaving the small kitchen. Her guest was already waiting, helping himself to a generous cup of tea, seemingly content to just wait for her.

But that's how Albus Dumbledore operated. He never rushed into things, he always took his time. Always calm.

Carolina didn't think it was all an act; at least not entirely. Patience yielded more results, after all. But sometimes she wondered whether he simply waited for the inevitable or not, something that would turn out to be in his favor anyway. Patience was also a sign of confidence.

And so he waited, silver robes draped around his frame in a manner that was just a tad too disturbing. If she didn't know him as well as she did, Carolina would have laughed at anyone who dared suggest that this man was capable of felling the Dark Lord Grindelwald.

Alas, that cheery harmless persona obviously was an act. A calculated response to everyone who attributed power to Albus Dumbledore.

"Ms. Yassine." Dumbledore placed his cup on the coffee table, blue eyes finally looking up. "In good health, I hope. It's been a while."

Taking a seat on her ratty couch, the wandmaker snorted, crossing her ankles and leaning back slightly.

"I was busy."

Predictably, the old wizard smiled, his kind expression never wavering.

"Indeed." His long fingers tapped against his knee. "I often find it difficult to sort through the puzzle that is my mind these days, especially with age. We forget to take care of ourselves."

"Somehow I doubt that something as simple as age would let _your mind_ rest." Carolina smirked, watching him intently. Dumbledore was always hard to figure out, his mood rarely changing for the worse. It's as if he never worried about anything.

Pointing at his cup, Dumbledore chuckled. "Ah, but that's the beauty of tea. It gives me all the peace I need."

Carolina huffed, wondering if the old man would ever get to the point. His philosophical musings tended to give her a headache. It seems she would have to push further. Rummaging in her pocket, her fingers finally curled around the object she had so carefully constructed over the last couple of years. With no hesitance whatsoever, she pulled it out and placed it on the coffee table between them, resuming her careful analysis of the wizard. To her surprise, he showed no outward reaction, though she might have caught a flicker of disappointment, but it was hard to tell.

"I have something for you," she began slowly. "At least, I hope it's to your liking."

Dumbledore didn't need an invitation. He carefully picked up her creation, a very special wand she had constructed. Knowledgable as he was in wandlore, it didn't surprise her when he began to examine the contents, trying to bend the wood as if to test how pliant it was.

"Core of a-"

She interrupted him, dread clouding her thoughts. "Dementor's flesh. Strips of it really, since the material was rather... stubborn, I suppose. I don't think your friend Ollivander would approve." He definitely wouldn't and it was understandable to some degree. Memories of endless research for suitable Dementors, _communicating_ with those vile creatures, cutting into one of them often haunted her at night. They were enough to make grown men flee in terror. If she hadn't been proficient in using the Patronus charm, Carolina was certain she would have been dead many times over.

"Garrick is right, of course," Dumbledore replied curtly, placing the object back on the table. He didn't look impressed or even interested in it, which gnawed at her pride. "I don't approve, but as you know, my own stance regarding ethical wandlore became rather insubstantial in times of war. A shame, really."

Hypocrite.

"Have you found him then?" Carolina asked, eyes narrowed. Even now she could feel the power of her own creation humming in expectation, even greed. It was eerie, how it seemed to affect her more than him. But it was vital for her to remain in control.

His eyebrows rose, perhaps having expected Carolina to push further, questioning his morals as she so often did. Now was not the time, though.

"Tom?" Dumbledore looked surprised, but maybe that too was an act. "He was sighted in Germany a couple of times, but I believe he returned last week, in light of what happened."

Ah, yes. Now they were getting to the good part.

"The prophecy," she began, shifting in her seat. She would _love_ to hear more about that. In fact, they all deserved an answer. A proper answer that didn't consist of empty promises and evasive wordplay.

"The same prophecy _you_ witnessed." Her voice sharpened. "Information that would become vital for our war efforts. You know that they've been asking me about it." The association had been part of her life for many years, but recently their requests had become unbearable.

Dumbledore's expression turned indifferent, which just aggravated her further. It's like he refused to understand the seriousness of her situation. Didn't seem to care. Why? They were allies, were they not?

Inhaling, Carolina had a hard time controlling herself, balling her fists. "I would appreciate if you acknowledged that I deserve compensation for my work."

"Hm. Studying the Elder Wand is not a form of compensation? Is your research not a gift in itself?" Dumbledore prompted.

Running a hand through her lank hair, Carolina didn't even bother to mask her frustration. Albus needed to see reason.

"I'm not like your friend Ollivander. I don't take pleasure in the simplest things."

No, she wanted challenges, she wanted to be of help. And most importantly, she wanted revenge. Lord Voldemort needed to die. But maybe her need to see him dead eclipsed Dumbledore's need to win the war.

Holding his gaze, she didn't even flinch when his disappointment became apparent, although it bothered her to some degree. Blue eyes stared her down, justice transforming benevolent features into something godlike and making her feel rather small. She hated it. She hated how Albus could degrade someone with a simple look. None of this was intended to be malicious, but kindness and moral judgements were Dumbledore's preferred weapons. He wielded them extremely well.

"Sadly, you don't." Those were words intended to wound her pride, but explaining herself would only drive the knife deeper. Yet she couldn't resist, wanting to make him see reason, if only to have that man on her side. It was too important.

"You know why I'm doing this," she whispered. "Why we are doing this. And you know why I work for them. So why are you judging me for doing all I can to destroy the Dark Lord?" It didn't make any sense. Surely he wouldn't refuse to use her research against Voldemort.

But apparently that's what Albus wanted. Another knife began to twist inside her, chipping away at her confidence.

"There is a line between doing what is right and what is easy. What you have been doing so far is taking shortcuts. Or do you remember me asking you to make a weapon?"

"You asked me to study the Elder Wand. And I did."

Dumbledore frowned. "Precisely. You studied it and tried to replicate it in hopes of making more weapons against Tom. That's not what I asked of you."

"Then why? Why did you give away such priceless information?" she voiced, unable to hide her curiosity. Dumbledore had never offered a reasonable answer in the past. "Why did you ask me to study your wand, if not to study its power in hopes of turning the tides in this senseless war?" Her emotional control was breaking and fast. Seeing Dumbledore's expression, Carolina pressed further, wanting to laugh at the absurdity of it all, her own powerlessness. "Because Garrick refused? There are enough wandmakers in Europe that could have helped you out in your research. Why me?

Not even waiting for an answer, she stood, unable to just sit here and watch as he turned one of his moral rules against her, leaving her empty-handed and making her feel _used_.

"You know I hate that man. You know I'd do anything to see the Dark Lord gone. And now you're complaining?"

Slowly, Dumbledore raised his head, looking up at the ceiling. "You misunderstand me, my dear. I have full confidence in your abilities. There's hardly a wandmaker in existence that understands the story of the three brothers as well as you do." Dumbledore's smile invoked pity, his words empty to her ears. "Another requirement why your friends recruited you in the first place."

"Don't make this about them. The association has nothing to do with my decisions." The nerve of that man. He treated her like a child, a mindless follower.

The old man didn't look convinced at all. Of course, he didn't. He would rather blame them for her decisions, despite the fact that Carolina had never told them anything about the Elder Wand or the fact that she knew who possessed it in the first place. She had protected Dumbledore's secret, had studied his wand and expanded her research to help.

None of it seemed to matter.

Dumbledore stared at her, unblinking. "Regardless of the choices you made, Carolina, I have full confidence that the prophecy is the only solution to end this war."

"Then tell me what it is about." That much she deserved to know. But of course, Dumbledore merely smiled, refilling his cup of tea wandlessly, before taking a sip. Making her wait.

After a while, he began to speak, his words chosen carefully.

"I will tell you this. Somehow I know that this wand,-" Aged hands pulled out carved wood, revealing the Elder Wand, which gleamed in the sunlight streaking through the curtains, making it shine much more than her copy did. "-will change its owner soon. When that happens, your research will be _invaluable_ ," Albus said, his voice soothing. "You don't need to sell your talents to a group of misguided individuals."

He didn't tell her anything. He expected her to do nothing. And as she took her seat again, she knew Albus would never tell her anything about the contents of the prophecy. She was being used. But for what, Carolina couldn't say.

"Tom will want to recruit you soon," the older wizard suddenly said, making her look up. "He will require your talents. Your loyalty. Everything you can offer and more. Don't underestimate his talent for manipulation."

Smiling bitterly, the old witch merely inclined her head, having already decided what to do. If Dumbledore didn't have the drive to kill the Dark Lord, someone else would need to step up.

* * *

_Nurmengard_

Endless corridors stretched across the building, creating an intricate, arcane labyrinth for people who were not familiar with the prison's layout. Counting his steps didn't help and remembering every twist and turn Riddle took was near impossible. All he knew was that they were getting closer Grindelwald's top-most cell. Winding staircases restricted their movements and Harry wondered how Riddle knew where to go. Perhaps he'd received faint memories or imprints of the body while possessing it. He even seemed familiar with enchantments and traps inside these walls, sidestepping and disabling every single one of them as he forced Harry to move.

Riddle was better prepared than Harry. Had been right from the start.

But then, Harry had never intended to let himself be dragged into this situation, with Riddle's wand pointed directly at his head. Unfortunately for him, Dumbledore was of no help, although Harry had counted on him to trap and overpower the Horcrux, once he realized what Harry had gotten himself into. Harry could have postponed his untimely visit to Grindelwald's prison. Alas, with Voldemort running rampant and intent to get to the former Dark Lord, that too turned out to be difficult.

There was only one thing left to do.

Another turn left and suddenly the two of them found themselves face to face with an elderly witch clad in white, the standard robe of every association member. The sparse light inside the corridor obscured her features, but Harry noticed her naked surprise as she faced them, locking eyes with Riddle.

"Patrick?"

He couldn't see Riddle's expression and his arms were tightly bound behind his back, preventing him from doing much. Harry guessed that she must have recognized the young man whose body had been stolen. Of course, no one knew about that, which is why it became pathetically easy for Riddle to play along.

"Hello, Anna. Nice to see you again," he said, his voice a bit off.

Her lips trembled and the witch didn't really seem to pay too much attention to Harry. Perhaps it would give him enough time to free himself from his bindings. With Riddle distracted, Harry could at least attempt to fight back. Squinting at the witch, he remained still as she stepped closer.

"We thought-, I thought we lost you." Timid hands reached out. Glancing sideways, he caught the way Riddle's eyes narrowed in distaste when she touched his upper arm, staring at him as if he were a ghost. These people, Anna and Patrick must have been close, Harry thought. Relatives maybe? Riddle's stolen body was fairly young, but there was a similarity to their appearances. A mother or aunt maybe?

Arm outstretched, Riddle kept his wand pointed at Harry, but his eyes swept past her, seemingly indifferent. It was precisely that look which made the witch drop her hand, as if stung. Biting his lips, Harry tried to keep an eye on both of them. Perhaps Riddle wasn't as well-versed in playing this Patrick as he liked to be.

The witch frowned, looking a bit confused.

"You can see I'm rather busy right now," Riddle said, making Anna turn around to look at Harry. She didn't seem to recognize him, which was weird. "Perhaps you should help out the others. The Dark Lord's army as well as the Aurors are currently fighting our people." Riddle's words were final.

"I was asked to stay behind." The witch shook her head, not looking entirely satisfied with that. "They need some of us in order to watch _Him_."

"How many?" Riddle stepped away from her, forcing Harry to move again. But Anna merely shrugged, her white robes not looking as pristine as Harry thought they would, especially when she stepped into the torchlight. From behind her, Harry thought he could hear footsteps approaching them quickly. It seems they were about to get company, which didn't seem to bother her, but made Riddle stiffen beside him.

Harry kept his head lowered, just in case. Playing submissive for now was far more preferable than rebelling. He couldn't risk getting Stunned and being forced to wake up in Grindelwald's presence, completely disorientated.

The other guard reached them soon, forcing Riddle to stop so as to avert any suspicion.

"Didn't think we would ever see you again, Patrick," a male voice called, ignoring Anna as he walked past her. "What happened?"

Harry caught a whiff of the man's aftershave, mixed with something foreign. Daring to look up, his eyes widened, meeting the curious glance of another young, handsome man, clad in white, a man who was now standing entirely too close for comfort.

"Harry Potter," the man whispered, wetting his lips. "And you caught him? Kept him locked up or what?" the wizard asked, still keeping his eyes on Harry. A gloved hand touched his shoulder, but before he could do more, another hand shot out, curling around the wizard's wrist to push him away.

"Don't touch him, Jonathan," Riddle's voice darkened further, making the witch stiffen in fear. "He's not your plaything."

The blond wizard broke eye contact, finally turning his attention to Riddle, albeit reluctantly. "I get it, I get it. He's yours, right?" Holding his hands up in surrender, the man frowned at Riddle, as if seeing someone familiar, but noticing something that wasn't there before. Even Anna was looking a bit alarmed.

Harry had no idea how Patrick was supposed to act like, but for some reason Riddle wasn't really on top of his game right now, his act not as convincing as it should be.

Harry could sense Riddle's impatience through the link, his desire to kill these two people, but for some reason the Horcrux held himself back. Maybe he was concerned that his bloodlust would bring down an entire army upon them. Or maybe he thought that Harry would use Riddle's distraction to free himself. In any case, it was hopeless to do something now.

Without another word, Riddle continued to drag Harry to Grindelwald's cell, taking the final steps and ignoring Jonathan's presence. Evidently, the other wizard wouldn't leave them alone, unlike Anna who had chosen to stay behind, watching Riddle's back with suspicious eyes.

"You better have a good explanation for your absence, my friend. The others won't like the fact that you kept such a treasure to yourself," the man warned, following behind them. "The orders were clear."

Riddle ignored him completely, reaching the end of the corridor, though he kept Harry at arm-length. Peering inside, Harry knew that they were finally here. There was a single cell, incredibly small and made of the same stone as the rest of the fortress. No torchlight illuminated this place, gloom and dust the only inhabitants.

And most importantly, it was an illusion.

Harry felt it, the magic hiding the reality inside, complicated wards set up to make it look like a cell. There was even a shadowy figure crouched on a bed, but nobody moved, nobody breathed. This wasn't Grindelwald. In fact, the concrete seemed to shift when you focused on the magic, rippling energy coalescing with the reality outside. He couldn't smell anything, no stench, no stale air, no draft. There was nothing.

So it wasn't at all surprising for him to see the other wizard tapping his wand against the metal bars, the movement creating a pattern that broke the carefully crafted illusion.

And once it broke, the cell was no longer a cell but a door leading somewhere else. Without hesitation, Riddle stepped forward, grabbing Harry's arm tightly. He had no choice but to follow. For now.

* * *

The first thing Harry noticed was the temperature, a coldness embracing them that couldn't be natural. It reminded him of the area outside the fortress, but Harry knew that if his suspicion turned out to be right, he would have to be prepared. He would need to face _them_. Fear squeezed his insides, making every step a chore. But he had to go on. He had to do it, because it was the only way to get rid of Riddle.

The door led to a single hall, filled with dozens of shelves and strange statues, relicts and Merlin knows what else. Looking around, he couldn't see any windows, only greenish light emanating from flickering bulbs on the ceiling. The hall looked like a Muggle laboratory.

Riddle's grip on Harry tightened further, making him wince.

"Don't hurt the boy," the other wizard warned, having seen the way Riddle manhandled him. Both of them ignored the stench of chemicals, the filth and dust gathered all around them.

Harry tensed, alert to any noises, alarms or anything that could turn this situation around. But nothing permeated the wards, no one waited for them. There was only silence. Silence and his own heartbeat. The three of them were completely isolated.

Still, it was getting colder, so cold in fact that Harry was sure he would either freeze to death or get trapped inside a prison made of ice. It licked at his skin, numbing his mind, his resolve weakening and making his breath come out in puffs of air.

And then he heard it.

" _Step aside, you silly girl_ ," someone hissed.

Harry looked around, but Riddle and the other wizard didn't seem to have noticed anything, still continuing to move forward.

" _Please! Not Harry! Kill me instead!_ " someone pleaded, over and over again. A cacophony of fear and desperation began to assault Harry. What was going on?

It was getting louder and louder and Harry couldn't help it. Closing his eyes, he stumbled, nearly crashing into Riddle. Arms tightened around him but the voices continued. Getting worse.

"Potter," someone called.

" _Step aside!_ " a cold voice repeated.

" _Please, please not Harry!_ " a woman begged.

" _Avada Kedavra_!"

Harry's eyes snapped open. Whirling around, his panicked gaze locked with Riddle's who was staring at him indifferently. Did nobody hear that? Tugging at his bindings, Harry gave up all pretense of submissiveness, trying to find the source of that voice.

But there was no deadly green light, only the voice of a woman pleading for Harry's life.

"What's wrong with the boy?" Jonathan stared at him. Good question. Harry had to close his eyes again, willing his body to stop panicking, anything that would get rid of whatever temporary insanity had gripped his mind.

That woman...

"Now's not the time, Harry," Riddle said. And again they were moving, past shelves and light and coldness, and yet those voices persisted. His chest expanded, every breath he took awakening a pain that had nothing to do with the cold.

It was a mental attack of sorts. Something he couldn't control. Nails digging into his skin, Harry forced himself to trudge across the hall.

" _Not Harry. Please. Please_."

Where was Dumbledore? Anyone really? Whatever courage he had felt to follow up on his plan was quickly eradicated, since he seemed to be the only one affected by those voices.

_"Step aside."_

It was Voldemort's voice. Riddle's voice tormenting a woman.

His mother.

Rage clouded his vision. Looking up, he took in the stolen body, the Horcrux walking determinedly towards Harry's doom. This was also a part of the man who had hunted down his mother, had killed her in the end.

What was Riddle planning? He had suspected for a long time that Riddle had found a way to get a body while breaking the connection between them.

Grindelwald was the key. But how?

Ugly emotions crawled inside his body like maggots, feasting on his anxiety and forcing him to look at Riddle with a hatred he hadn't felt in a long time. Harry's throat tightened, cutting off his ability to breathe properly, but eventually none of that mattered. Not even his hatred mattered.

They have reached the other side of the hall. And Harry forced himself to look at the legendary Dark Lord Grindelwald.

* * *

"We can't help," Minister Farnes said, her voice resolute against the onslaught of anger that her most capable Auror was directing at her. Rendahl's posture screamed determination. An admirable effort really, all things considered. But it was misplaced.

In the past, he used to care about nothing and no one, too obsessed with his job, spending too much time at the ministry and doing more night shifts than necessary. Forming bonds and relationships had never enticed the man, despite his motivation to save people. It was one major flaw that truly prevented him from being great, Marit thought. A shame really.

But now? He seemed to have developed some form of affection for the boy, even going so far as to oppose her directly. Sadly, there was nothing she could do.

"I don't care about regulations, Minister. If we don't save Potter, he _will_ die, he will get killed by those people." Bracing his hands against the desk, Rendahl leaned forward, eyes narrowed at her. "Your efforts and mine. It won't matter anymore. The war will be lost."

"Really?" She looked at the man from beneath lowered eyelids, wondering. Surely, the war wasn't his main concern. He never seemed to give a damn about the Dark Lord and his machinations.

"Perhaps you're putting too much stock into prophecies that are only relevant to a civil war in Britain," she said, smirking when she noticed his surprise. Of course, she'd known that her top Auror had become interested in prophecies. Placing her hand against her cheek, she considered his words. "We have more issues at hand, more people to fight. Potter's fate is not a decisive factor in a European war against Dark Arts fundamentalists."

"Then what was that all about?" he snarled, expression murderous. "Why did you let me train him? Why the hell did you decide to get him involved in your politics, if he's so useless?"

Marit sighed. Really, that man would never see the bigger picture, too narrow-minded and hot-headed to think like a politician, like her.

"I didn't say that." Willing him to understand, she fixed him with a serious look. "I said he's a decisive force in Britain. If Britain falls, it won't mean that the rest of us will go down with it."

Predictably, Rendahl shook his head, sneering at her, dismissing her words entirely. Still, she pressed on. He would understand. "I let him get involved, because I fully believe, despite your misgivings, that Potter will know what to do. He will survive this."

His disbelief was clear."You could still send a team of Aurors to help," he said.

"And risk what, political backlash from Germany?" She could have laughed at his naïveté. Truly, he was all brawn these days, no brains at all. Her fingers trailed lower and she balled her hand, placing her chin on her fist. "Auror Rendahl, you seem to forget that sending hit wizards to a foreign country without permission is an offense."

Rendahl's fingers trembled and he used the momentum to push himself away from her desk. "Potter is our responsibility," he said. His words were decisive, but empty. There was nothing he could do, not without leaving the Aurors.

"He's not," she began slowly. "He's stateless. No country in the world will hold its neck out for him, unless he bends it first. And Harry refused to do that."

Throwing his arms up, Rendahl gave up entirely, staring at her with disgust.

"You're listening to a teenager's absurd rebellion. It's complete insanity, Minister." Pausing, he held his breath. "And honestly, I don't care anymore. I will get the boy out."

"And I will revoke that Auror badge of yours, effective immediately. Remember your place." But his lips tightened in response and he turned around, his shoulders drawn up in defense. As she watched him go, Marit thought about his intentions. Would he do it? Would he give up his career for a boy he barely knew, a boy who'd caused the Auror department so much work? He couldn't possibly be that invested in Harry Potter, unless there was something she had overlooked.

But maybe it was as simple as that. Friendship. The man didn't have any friends, after all. Perhaps Potter had changed that fact.

Rendahl walked out, slamming the door, leaving her more confused than ever.

* * *

Gellert Grindelwald should have been a force to be reckoned with, an indestructible man withstanding time and the harshness of a miserable life in prison, with charm and arrogance that only a Lord of his caliber could possess. That's what Harry had imagined when thinking about the former Dark Lord. This was the man who fought against Albus Dumbledore, engaging in a historical duel that the world would always remember. For the Greater Good.

He was none of those things.

Harry stared at the wreck sitting before him, with Lily Potter's pleas ringing inside his head. Harry didn't even make a sound when Riddle forced him on his knees, didn't care when the other guard began to search for Harry's wand, only to feel Riddle's hand closing around his Rowan wand, leaving holly where it was, hidden away from Jonathan's probing eyes and hands. If it was an attempt to give Harry a fighting chance, it didn't matter.

Sitting before him, on a simple chair, was Gellert Grindelwald, dressed in black robes, his eyes an empty void that didn't register the outside world. He was a mess, his face ashen against the harsh green light, sunken cheeks and protruding collarbones making him look emaciated, his entire body punctured by cables and securely trapped. His torment must have gone on for ages.

He definitely didn't look like a leader of a nefarious organization that mutilated witches and wizards all over Europe. He looked like one of its victims, another _failed experiment_. But the guard didn't seem to find it strange at all. So what was it that they were doing to the man? Harry didn't think Grindelwald could hurt a fly, in the state he was in.

But there was one interesting thing about him. Blond hair hung in messy strands, framing his sharp features, his eyes empty, but steadily fixed on Harry, as if he was the only thing worth watching in this place. Grindelwald might not have been fully aware of everything around him, but there was something about him, indicating that he was not...entirely gone. If that was the case, Harry wouldn't fail either. Green eyes looked up, breaking eye contact with Grindelwald in order to find his real target.

And there they were.

Nurmengard didn't use Dementors to torment a prisoner. No. Harry's lips twitched, his mind suddenly getting clearer with hope, knowing that he had been right all along. Above them, Dementors trashed against the firm barrier keeping them away from their victim.

He'd never seen them up close, but Harry understood that the cold inside this room stemmed from their unnatural presence, his mother's voice a painful memory that they evoked. They looked hungry, though. Hungry and mutilated, as if someone had repeatedly used them as ingredients for...

"How many of those wands have you produced by now," Riddle suddenly asked, withdrawing Harry's wand and holding it up for inspection. Jonathan nodded, smirking. "Enough to equip an entire army. Enough to gather large amounts of magic capable of killing the Dark Lord _and_ Albus Dumbledore." The man was bragging, but Harry didn't want to listen to any of it. He knew that Dementors couldn't be killed. He knew they would turn on anyone who messed with them.

"I believe the Dark Lord recently destroyed a good deal of those wands in hopes of weakening _Him,"_ Jonathan pointed at Grindelwald. "Too much light magic at once and you know what happens. Our master barely survived the attack. But he will be powerful enough under our control, once he's set free."

Riddle looked displeased, but not surprised at all. And from what this guard was saying, Harry could guess that Voldemort used the set of wands Harry had given him in order to feed Grindelwald with light magic. Perhaps to prove a theory, or to destroy the man. It did sound like too much light magic at once could kill him.

It didn't work.

He was still alive and thus capable of being used as a weapon against Voldemort. The only question was how?

Harry was so focused on figuring out how the foreign magic affected Grindelwald, he almost failed to notice Riddle's attack. Too fast was he. The Horcrux, acting on a time limit, wasted no time slitting Jonathan's throat before the man could react. Harry watched in disbelief as the victim stared at Riddle, not comprehending anything. Then he crumbled to the ground, dead.

"You-" Harry murmured, memories of his own first kill suddenly breaking through the shock.

"Silence." Riddle pointed his wand at Harry, twirling the Rowan wand in his other hand. Grindelwald hadn't even blinked. "I would prefer if you remained conscious, but I will stun you, if you don't shut your mouth and listen."

Harry snarled, ready to draw his wand, but his hands were still tightly bound. Whipping his head around, he wondered if Dumbledore would be able to reach him sooner, but Riddle noticed his panic.

"Don't even think about it." The mockery in Riddle's expression, his condescending tone was unbearable. "Your beloved headmaster is too busy fighting my Other Self."

"He will come for him," Harry said, not wanting to give up. Tilting his head in Grindelwald's direction, Harry stared at the Horcrux, unafraid of him. "If he doesn't help me, he will at least help him."

"By then it will be too late to save either of you." Riddle's eyes were hard as he stepped closer to the former Dark Lord, inspecting his still form.

"So this is it. You'll kill me then."

Forced on his knees, Harry couldn't think of a more humiliating position to face his death, but there was nothing he could do, since Riddle's magic was too strong to break it wandlessly. Swallowing past the lump in his throat, Harry focused on his plan.

"Kill you?" Riddle asked, his voice a mere breath against the side of Harry's face. "Regretfully, that's not my part in this tragedy. No, Harry. Grindelwald will do it for me, just as they wanted it."

Without waiting for Harry to say something, Riddle continued to assess Grindelwald's state."You have researched Horcruxes, I believe." Seeing the boy's expression, he couldn't help but smirk. "Oh, don't look at me like that. I knew you were resourceful enough to connect the dots. You see, a Horcrux, or a soul piece as you might remember, needs an emotional connection to its victim. We talked about soul pieces."

Riddle was indulging him. That much Harry knew. "It had never been about him? You never wanted to take Grindelwald's body?" he asked carefully.

"Why would I want a diseased, half-dead ex-Lord, when I have you?" Riddle flipped Harry's Rowan wand, pressing the handle against the back of Grindelwald's hand.

_Please. Not Harry. Please. Please._

It was painful, devastating even to hear his mother while watching her murderer gloat about Harry's imminent demise. There was no order telling anyone to step aside, no sacrifices that needed to be made. Just Tom Riddle, the Horcrux, facing Harry Potter, his enemy. As it should have always been. Harry thought facing this man alone was more rewarding, though. No one needed to die for him.

"The strongest connection already exists between the two of us," Riddle continued calmly, gaze fixed on the old man. "And you are youthful enough for me to make the most of it. Besides, you might imagine that living the life of the Boy-Who-Lived has its perks, doesn't it?"

Appalled, Harry stared at Grindelwald who was not so still anymore, reacting to what Riddle was doing to him, albeit carefully. "My magic..." Harry murmured, the horror of it all crashing down on him.

The Horcrux smiled. "Will be gone and once you turn into a squib, the soul link between us is weakened enough for me to take over, driving you out." Riddle's words confirmed Harry's death sentence.

Grimacing in pain, green eyes followed Grindelwald's movements, watching as pale fingers automatically curled around his Rowan wand. "But Grindelwald will have my magic. He will be even more powerful."

Tom nodded, his words biting. "Indeed, this pathetic excuse of a Dark Lord had stolen the power of many capable witches and wizards. Or shall we say, his followers did it for him. He's positively reeking of it. But it's unstable, because none of it is his. He won't survive the influx."

Glancing at the old wizard, Harry might have imagined the mocking edge in the otherwise empty gaze, which was now directed at Riddle. Tom didn't seem to have noticed anything.

Perhaps, perhaps Harry was not as alone as he thought...

"I like you, Harry. I really do," Riddle said. "You have that survival instinct, deep down under all these layers of self-loathing." The words were just more insults and not worth acknowledging. Harry knew the Horcrux wanted to manipulate him one last time, waiting for some sort of reaction. It was tempting and it took all of his willpower to resist reacting, potentially revealing more than Harry could afford to.

"Even now, I know you're waiting for the right moment to strike, but there's nothing you can change. Your curiosity, your hotheadedness will be your downfall. I warned you plenty of times."

"No, you wanted me to be independent and hotheaded, so as to isolate me. But I chose Dumbledore. I chose to ask for help." Looking up, Harry took in the sight of crawling, hungry Dementors, watched as the green light flickered ominously. Dumbledore would be here soon. Even the walls and shelves inside this room didn't seem as enclosing.

Riddle frowned, bending his head to whisper in Harry's ear. "And you made a mistake. But even if you hadn't done that, your fate would've been the same. I wanted you to realize that." Harry didn't see the pity in Riddle's eyes, the slight dissatisfaction. "I want you to know that it might have been different, under different circumstances. Having you as an ally in this war could have been an advantage, especially against my Other Self."

His cold breath made Harry shudder. Disgust and anger coiled inside him and he just wanted Riddle to _shut up and do it_.

Riddle's words were poison. "Of course, I don't want any competition and having your body in my possession will give me enough opportunities to play this game in my favor, even against myself."

Cold hands were now running through his hair, caressing the side of his face in a manner that could have been called intimacy, if it wasn't so utterly degrading.

"Tell me, Harry. Do you regret anything?" Riddle asked, his carefully crafted mask gone, obsessed with watching him. "Do you regret not having managed to control me, to make me care about you or to make me hesitate? Is your self-loathing eating you up?"

Long fingers clawed at him, so forceful it made the sound of his mother's voice disappear, only to be replaced by sharp physical pain. Why wasn't Riddle doing it? Even Grindelwald seemed to be ready for something.

"The only regret I feel," Tom breathed, "is having lived for so long inside a body, forced to watch as a young boy let himself be beaten down by filthy Muggles. He did nothing to grasp all that power he had, nothing to defend himself. He just let it happen."

Memories stung, forcefully replaying themselves inside Harry's head, his Occlumency useless against Riddle's relentless power.

"It's a disgrace, considering how similar we are," Riddle hissed, sounding more angry than ever before. "But you did nothing. You didn't retaliate, you just chose to hide."

Harry could have laughed.

"I don't need revenge." Smiling, he said the only thing that would mock Riddle's past. "I'm nothing like you." Harry felt conviction and a sense of righteousness flooding him. And as he held Grindelwald's not so empty gaze, Harry knew that he would be alright. There was no reason to be afraid anymore.

"And that, my dear Harry, makes you weak."

It didn't.

The Rowan wand cracked and power poured out of it, making Harry gasp. He crashed down onto the cold stone floor, no longer able to hold himself up as the force of his magic began to leave him. Whatever Grindelwald was doing, and he was doing something, it seemed to work in Riddle's favor. The Horcrux stepped away from them, casually pushing the body of the dead guard away with his boots.

It was painful, reminiscent of his duel with Dolohov, but much more forceful. It tugged at his being, ripping something vital away from Harry and whatever it was, it began to surround the former Dark Lord, a mist of beautiful light entering the old man's body, through the cables; the cracked wand with a core of a Dementor's flesh was reacting to the presence of the only beings on Earth who could suck out a wizard's soul, thus taking all of his magic. The only beings who had been abused for something as disgusting as _stealing_ magic.

And as he felt himself getting weaker, each second bringing a wave of excruciating darkness, Harry stared at the ceiling. It was a very private moment for him. Getting turned into someone without magic to the point where he wouldn't survive the extraction and Riddle's subsequent power should be private. Yet he was forced to endure it, Riddle's ruthlessness becoming voyeuristic as he watched Harry scream and writhe on the ground. Something was reaching inside Harry, seemingly pulling his magic out with bare hands. But he would survive this.

He would survive and his need for survival would be stronger than Tom Riddle's. Because Harry was willing to do something Riddle would never do. And his mother's pleas were the driving factor.

Right on time, Harry heard multiple voices from outside, ripping through the illusion and breaking the door. He couldn't help it. Harry laughed past the pain, even as he lay there at Grindelwald's feet, seemingly defeated. Now there were several armies of wizards and witches battling it out inside the man's cell. And Riddle was forced to react, as spells suddenly rushed past them, and white robes clashed against Aurors, dark masks clashing against Dumbledore's people.

It was a complete mess and people began to shout, searching frantically for Grindelwald. Voldemort was here, ready to kill him, ready to decimate the association. They didn't have to do much. Shelves broke, lights flickered and the masses of bodies couldn't prevent the utter destruction that was caused by Dumbledore's power and Voldemort's might.

"Beautiful," a low voice rasped and through the haze of pain, Harry could make out Grindelwald's features, hungrily fixed on Albus Dumbledore, and more importantly alive. Riddle, who had been distracted and forced to turn his wand on them, stilled completely. It was enough. It was enough to distract even Voldemort who had searched for Harry and found the powerful form of a guard clad in white standing between him and his target. Crimson eyes widened.

And Dumbledore's eyes locked with Grindelwald's which was enough to break any influence the association had on the man. Cables broke apart, disintegrating with the unique force of Gellert's unparalleled will. And Harry laughed, because he felt it when Grindelwald began to reverse the process. His own magic rushed through Harry and Grindelwald pushed and pushed, rejecting everything he had been forced to endure. Together it was possible. The rippling force was enough to crack even Riddle's bindings on Harry, enough to free them both.

And Harry got up on his feet, ignoring the pain and pivoting around to acknowledge his foes, to smile at the Horcrux.

"You told me it was wrong to ask Dumbledore for help," Harry voiced, eyes hard. "What about a Dark Lord then?" His voice cut through the battle, making both Dumbledore and Voldemort turn their attention on him.

Gripping his holly wand, Harry raised it above his head slowly, completely ignoring Riddle's wand, which was again directed at him. "I feel sorry for you, Tom."

Harry could practically feel Voldemort's shock rippling through his scar, but he continued, no longer caring how many people became aware of his status as a Horcrux. "You stayed with me for so long and you never changed, never learned that it is perfectly alright to ask for help." The spell began to manifest itself, the tip of Harry's wand glowing. "That doesn't make me weak. But it makes _you_ look pathetic," he hissed, viciously enjoying the anger that clouded Tom's face. Even the man's hands began to shake. Riddle would need a new body tonight, if he didn't want to return back to Harry's body.

It wouldn't happen. None of those things would. Tom had thought that Grindelwald had been permanently turned into a mindless weapon, incapable of feeling anything, just acting on stolen power as a Dark Lord supposedly should. But luck was on Harry's side tonight.

Luck and just a little bit of planning. Planning that involved certain Dark creatures ready to be unleashed, revenge and hunger dictating their actions. The fortress was full of them and they should be free. Not used as ingredients.

"Do it," Grindelwald whispered, creating a ridiculously strong barrier to protect Harry. The force of it almost knocked the Potter heir off his feet, but he knew that neither Dumbledore nor Voldemort would be able to stop him. Riddle wouldn't be able to.

And without warning, Harry pushed his magic to his limits, cracking the barrier that kept the Dementors away from their prey.

It worked.

Masses of dark cloaks rushed forward, raining down on the association and Voldemort's Death Eaters, forcing Dumbledore's Order to cast the Patronus and German Aurors to aid them.

It was crowded inside the hall, but Voldemort didn't move, his burning gaze flickering, taking in Riddle's stolen body and Harry's triumphant expression.

"No, Harry. Don't," Dumbledore shouted in alarm, rushing forward, but Harry didn't resist when one of the closest Dementors encircled him. Grindelwald kept the shield up and Riddle was too stunned to do anything, surely realizing what Harry was about to do. Still, Harry didn't resist when coldness became the only thing he could feel, his mother's voice the only thing he could hear.

Happiness became nonexistent, but even that didn't prevent Harry from looking, holding Riddle's gaze. His eyes then fell on the silent figure standing amongst the chaos, crimson eyes steadily fixed on Harry.

The humanoid, tall shape closed in on him, a decomposing corpse encircling Harry like the prey he was. Scabbed, glistening hands touched his throat and Dumbledore shouted again, but Harry was no longer able to hear anything. Everything seemed to slow down, like a badly functioning machine no longer capable of recording reality.

The gaping hole where a mouth should be inhaled the air surrounding Harry and it got steadily closer. The Dementor pulled back its hood and its unique power reacted to the link that existed inside Harry's soul, which inevitably forced Riddle on his knees. Both of them were breathing heavily. And Voldemort who as the master soul would remain unaffected, but would feel the drain to some degree, didn't react. Everyone was forced to watch as Harry welcomed the Dementor's kiss. He felt Tom's soul being forced back inside Harry through the link. Because Harry was in control, because he had decided for the both of them.

It had worked.

The last thing he felt before endless darkness took him was Tom Riddle's naked fear and Lord Voldemort's unbridled fascination.

And then nothing.

* * *

One could get all religious about death, but religion didn't appeal that much to Harry. He never believed in some form of afterlife, but then he hadn't considered magic to be real, either.

Perhaps it wasn't so surprising to wake up in a strange, white room.

Why white?

Pushing himself up, Harry looked around, slightly disorientated. His glasses were gone. And he was dressed in white pants and a shirt. Again, why white?

Technically, he knew that he was supposed to be trapped inside a Dementor, so it couldn't exactly be called death, could it?

And the most baffling thing about being inside a Dementor was that he _knew_ _he was_ _inside a freaking Dementor_.

Harry had all his memories. He knew what had happened at Nurmengard. He was still Harry. Unchanged.

People had often pointed out that getting the Kiss was worse than death, because your soul couldn't move on. But then, no accounts of those souls existed in books. While it was true that the bodies remained intact, people didn't know what happened to the Kissed. Not really.

His eyes took in the details of this room, seeing a fireplace, books scattered on the table, portraits of faceless people hanging on the white walls.

He knew this place. Harry recognized his own living room.

A replica of Potter manor.

Wow.

Was that normal? Slowly, he began to move around, hesitating to touch anything. Maybe it would dissolve, leaving him with nothing to go on.

And then he heard a sound. Something he'd never heard before inside the manor, but which oddly struck a chord with him. Whatever it was, it sounded familiar. Harry's eyes searched every corner, looking for signs of someone, a presence really.

He waited and didn't have to wait long. Near the fireplace, a form began to take shape, long hair cascading down in graceful waves, a pleasant singing voice warming Harry's heart. It was nice.

Smiling a bit, he stepped closer, suddenly unafraid of what would happen. If this was death or something akin to it, he wouldn't mind staying.

It was a lullaby. And the woman's voice got more and more familiar. His feet automatically carried Harry to her and he might have continued to walk in a trance. But suddenly she turned around and the woman smiled at him.

Everything stopped. His heart might have stopped as well.

There she was, Lily Potter smiling at him, tears in her eyes as she continued to trace Harry's features. Harry might have died again. At least, that's what he was feeling now, because this couldn't be possible.

He recognized her face from old photographs, was watching her just as intently.

"Harry?" she suddenly asked, "Is that you?"

Harry's hands began to tremble. "Mum?"

Her smile got bigger and Harry was sure she would have left her seat. She would have embraced Harry tightly. And he wanted her to. Because if this was death, it was pure bliss. Harry's eyes glistened with tears, mirroring her. And then he looked down, only to notice the ugliest baby he'd ever seen in his mother's arms. It had long arms and feet and the face looked vaguely inhuman. It whimpered pathetically and only Harry's presence seemed to calm the baby down.

"What, what's going on?" he asked, too afraid to even speak. Perhaps this was a carefully crafted illusion. He had no idea, but he didn't want it to end.

Lily shook her head, holding the baby closer to her chest. "You shouldn't be here, Harry," she whispered gently. "This is a state of being that only exists between life and death." Her words made no sense and he was barely listening, still watching her completely entranced.

"You have your entire life in front of you. But we will see each other again when the time is right." The baby in her arms got restless again, weak hands reaching out for Harry. But he was too numb to react.

Lily gazed down at the baby. "Tom will remain here, because it was your decision to die. You paid the price and offered a soul piece for the creature that will never find rest, but you also have the opportunity to go back."

Balling his hands, Harry breathed out, forcing himself to pay attention, ignoring that something was tugging at his being. He was sure he would faint. Staring at his mother and talking to her like that brought him to his breaking point.

"I-"

"Voldemort is calling you back, isn't he?"

The tugging sensation inside him suddenly began to make sense, and Harry remembered several things at once, remembered that Voldemort had used his blood, which contained his mother's love. He hadn't taken that into account, but in this reality everything started to give him clarity in bits and pieces.

He had died willingly, had planned to get rid of the Horcrux, since Voldemort couldn't and wouldn't do it. Harry knew that the Horcrux wasn't fully destroyed, but the connection between them was severed entirely, since one of them would remain here, forever entrapped until he dissolved. It was the closest thing to dying Harry could think of.

He had believed in his survival, too. Not because he feared death. But because he simply wanted to live. Of course, it wasn't a question of choices. He couldn't have been certain of anything, but apparently his mother had reminded him of something crucial to make him go back.

Did he want to?

"Mum, I don't know what to do," he said, but Lily smiled knowingly, touching the baby's cheek.

"Of course you do." Her words brought forth another memory. A memory of Harry visiting Dumbledore in his office, a memory of Dumbledore telling him to live his life to the fullest. The sensation inside him got stronger, calling him away from this place. Was that supposed to be his life?

"Go, Harry. I will take care of Tom. Until the end."

Gasping for breath, Harry reached out, wanting to touch her. She was capable of so much forgiveness, even for someone who didn't deserve it. Except, maybe it was Tom's vulnerability in this place that prompted her to show mercy, to forgive. Perhaps Tom needed it. A mother's love.

And as her other hand touched the back of Harry's hand, he felt himself getting called back to the world of the living, an echo of his mother's lullaby the last impression left for him to remember.

Harry would never forget it. One day, he would hopefully find it in himself to be just as kind and forgiving as his mother. Because her love was the most powerful, most beautiful thing he had ever witnessed.

* * *

Albus stared at Voldemort who was standing near the entrance to the burning prison. He couldn't do anything while he was holding a weakened and dying man in his arms. He couldn't even attack the man. But it didn't matter.

Gellert wouldn't survive the night. He'd sacrificed his power, his everything to save Harry, perhaps not to save the boy out of compassion. Maybe he'd done it for _him_ instead.

Harry was gone, kidnapped by the association during the skirmish inside. And Voldemort who was standing out there, looking more dead than alive, was following their retreat with his senses attuned to Harry, perhaps intent to get the boy back.

Albus Dumbledore should have considered what it meant for the prophecy, but the last thing he cared about right now was the war. Gellert smiled at him, blood spilling out of his mouth and Albus had another thing to blame himself for. He'd been such a coward.

* * *

Harry Potter woke up. He wasn't even fully conscious yet, but the white-robed man carrying him on his back smirked. After all, it was one thing to survive the Killing Curse. But to survive the Killing Curse and a Dementor's Kiss?

Priceless.

* * *

_A/N: Hope you liked it._

_Here's a **spoiler** for you: Harry will rename the association at some point. It will be called Defence Association._

_Or DA. :)_


	31. (Un)desirable Nr.1

The dense forest made their escape much more difficult. No sign of life to be found anywhere, no safe way to escape You-Know-Who. It was so dark you could barely see where you were going.

A group of wizards and witches dressed in white stumbled over fallen branches, their cloaks no longer in good condition after what happened. They had a long way to go, before they could cross the Anti-Apparition wards. And the Dark Lord's forces engaged in a relentless pursuit, outnumbering what was left of their unit.

Alfred Clarke carried the boy on his back, every bone in his old body protesting against the harsh treatment. But he carried a valuable asset; the Boy-Who-Lived.

Which is why he couldn't allow himself to rest.

He allowed himself to think, though. And thinking about Harry Potter was always a worthwhile endeavor. Intriguing, to say the least.

Just moments ago, he has felt the boy stirring, waking up from his self-induced state. Apparently, the boy was still too weak to notice what he'd gotten himself into. But it didn't matter. What mattered was that he somehow survived a Dementor's kiss, though no one expected him to. Alfred certainly hadn't. The association thought him useful, either dead or alive. A valuable body for their aspirations, even with his soul long gone. Alfred would disagree, if only because he had a personal investment. He wasn't into chopping people up.

Harry Potter was much more useful alive, more valuable than other wizards who had served as ingredients for more power. No, Potter was power. And he proved it tonight, showing remarkable abilities to act on his feet.

In the end, they would need to interrogate the boy, though. There were a few things left to discover.

"If he's too heavy, let me carry him," someone murmured, walking at his side.

Alfred rolled his eyes.

"I can carry a 13 years old boy."

"And fight against that deranged lunatic Bellatrix Lestrange at the same time?" his friend shot back, dark eyebrows raised.

As if on cue, laughter could be heard in the woods, her voice carrying over to the fleeing group. The Death Eaters had orders to retrieve the boy. They would have to fight them, which was almost impossible. They were outnumbered, the Death Eaters having torn through Aurors and association members with an efficiency that was scary. Only Dumbledore's people had presented a challenge.

"We'll be there soon." He wanted to convince himself. But even his companion knew it was a lie.

"Hm, if you say so. Still it makes me wonder. From what I've heard, the Dark Lord can fly. In fact, he could possibly outfly us and take the boy just as easily." His friend smirked, shaking his head. Both of them tried to quicken their footsteps, but it was getting harder and harder to walk the small pathway.

A few association members had a slightly better idea. Starting to cast their spells, he could see a group of people creating complex illusions, wisps of white shadows that would look like them and would fool a couple of Death Eaters into pursuing these shadows.

The illusions started to head in a different direction. Alfred snorted, not convinced. Such magic, while impressive, would never fool the Dark Lord.

"Merlin knows what kind of mad games the freak likes to play," he said. "I don't care. We just need to get out of here."

They had another prisoner to take care of.

Karkaroff stumbled across the pathway. He was slightly ahead of them, forced to walk with wands pointed at his back. Alfred was certain someone had put him under the Imperius curse.

A branch cut into his robe and Alfred stumbled, his grip on Potter loosening slightly in the process.

Suddenly a green light filled his vision and his eyes widened. It flew past him, hitting one of the group's members right in the back. The person toppled over, but nobody cared, too focused on their own survival.

"Hurry up," his friend shouted, trying to run.

Potter moaned in distress and Alfred did his best to keep a hold on him. The last thing he needed right now was for the boy to wake up and start to fight back. And he would fight back. Alfred was certain that after tonight's events, Potter would be even less inclined to listen to their side of the story.

The boy was far too independent.

"Run, run, run!" someone screamed and more spell flew over their heads. Green, red. A multitude of colors and threats that made people scream in fear.

Alfred didn't believe in any deity, but that didn't mean they couldn't use some help to get out of here.

And so he ran, evading spells while keeping Potter safe. Others threw themselves in his direction, protecting them both from the Dark Lord's forces. But that didn't prevent them from experiencing Voldemort's power. The man finally reached their small group, darkness flickering behind trees and bringing with it an overwhelming sense of death.

The Dark Lord's spell was just as powerful, hitting Potter right in the back and making Alfred fall forward and right past the barrier that kept them trapped. With seconds to spare, he Apparated away, wondering whether Potter had survived this or not.

Alfred didn't dare to turn around.

* * *

Harry gasped for breath, his eyes flying open in shock. Time seemed to slow down for a moment and everything became unclear, pulling at his senses before a slight feeling of awareness pierced through him, forcing Harry to wake up.

He didn't know where he was and for a second Harry had a hard time remembering his own name. Panic came next, pushing his thoughts and heartbeat into overdrive. Bruised hands clenched, fingers digging into armrests with desperation. It was strange, really. Like waking up from a coma. His memories trickled in like raindrops, seconds going by with images coming together that were at once familiar and strange. A castle...flying...Apparating. That's what he remembered.

He had left Durmstrang together with a shard of Voldemort's soul. Harry had journeyed together with a psychopath, confronting a prisoner of war in the process. Pure madness.

He had seen _the real Voldemort_ again, after having all but revealed the man's Muggle background in the press; after having opposed him while still maintaining their shaky truce.

And Harry had been forced to do something drastic, after Dumbledore failed to apprehend the soul piece; Harry couldn't even squeeze the truth out of Grindelwald. It should've been a trip filled with failure after failure. And then certain things had turned out to be in Harry's favor.

Dementors.

Right. Now he remembered.

He had died.

Breathing slowly, Harry looked around, shaking away all thoughts of rotten flesh, hoods and spidery fingers grabbing at him.

Harry vaguely noticed that his arms and legs were tied to a chair. Magical handcuffs were holding him in place, making it impossible to use what strength and magic he had left in his body to break away.

The second thing he noticed was the room, or rather the sparse light inside it, a Muggle light bulb dangling precariously over his head. All he could see were the solid stone walls, and what appeared to be a sturdy table and chair placed right in front of Harry. Nothing else.

It wasn't much to go on, but he had gained some experience in the kidnapping department. It was starting to get annoying.

Blinking rapidly, Harry willed himself to calm down in order to focus. He was alive. And relatively unhurt. But that wasn't even his biggest concern right now. Memories kept spinning and twisting like ribbons inside his head, and everything was blurred, colorless, as if something had affected him, something that was important, but out of reach. He'd forgotten something vital.

Frustrated, his body lurched forward, trying to test the bonds. Harry huffed, out of breath.

Fuck. It was all such a mess. And he didn't even know where he was or what had happened to him. All he knew was that he'd survived a Dementor's kiss, had embraced the unbearable coldness and looked Tom in the eyes right before being swallowed up by darkness.

He was alive, or something close to it. Harry doubted he would have woken up in the afterlife tied to a chair.

Besides, this place looked like an interrogation room. One of those rooms that were so typical to Muggle crime movies.

He would either be tortured or interrogated at some point.

Great.

Sighing, Harry lowered his head. There was no way, no means of escape without facing his enemies first. But Harry suspected that Voldemort's wouldn't be the type to keep him in a place like that. If the Dark Lord wanted answers, he would have squeezed them out of Harry, preferably in a public setting just to humiliate him further. He would have also disregarded Harry's state of mind, forcefully waking him up to start the whole torturing business.

So that only left the association. But he couldn't be sure. It wouldn't be the first time Harry miscalculated so much. So what should he do now? What should he do?

Right on time, the only door inside the room was thrown open and Harry bit his lip, watching as three white-robed people entered the chamber with determined steps, their hoods covering their faces and making it hard for him to identify them. Harry inspected them closely, watching for any signs that would make this situation clearer.

They halted, surveying the scene. And the door behind them closed, wards shimmering into existence. That meant Harry was really in trouble.

"You're awake," one of them stated calmly.

Rolling his eyes, Harry pretended not to care. He kept his mouth shut. He wouldn't allow them to see any weaknesses.

The other two stepped closer, as if approaching a wild animal. It was mildly irritating, but he couldn't really deny that the entire situation didn't unnerve him. He had no idea where he was, no means of protecting himself and as far as Harry could see, no allies to get him out. He was all alone.

One of the men reached out without warning, suddenly grasping Harry's chin, making him hiss in surprise.

"Open up, boy," the other murmured and it wasn't long before Harry noticed what they wanted to do. One of them held up a vial with clear liquid inside it and the other tried to force his jaw to open. The third man stood motionless in front of him, entirely unaffected.

"Screw you-," he spat.

And then it took only three drops to turn him into a puppet.

He struggled hard. He wanted to spit it all out, but the potion was forced upon him, and one of the men made him swallow. Merlin, this was more serious than he thought. And all attempts to get away were useless. Hands were keeping him in place and the potion worked its magic, clouding his senses. No willpower seemed to work against it.

Harry coughed, clenching his eyes shut. Bloody hell. This was a nightmare. His past threats of mutilating himself now sounded laughable to his ears, knowing how easily Veritaserum could overpower you.

In the next second, Harry felt an unnatural calm rising inside him, taking away everything that could pose a resistance.

And then nothing.

Just waiting. That's all he could do. Blinking, his eyes were forced open as if expecting a serious interrogation. One he needed to face for whatever reason.

He didn't even register the satisfied smirk of the unknown man who now stepped in front of him, bowing down in order to inspect the teenager. The other two however let go of him, returning to the back of the room and out of Harry's eyesight.

"We have to test it, just to make sure," the man mumbled, his scratchy voice irritating Harry for some reason. He couldn't say anything, though.

"What's your name?" he began.

And Harry met the man's gaze, seeing beyond the shadows that were keeping those features hidden. "Harry James Potter," he replied, monotonous.

There was a moment of silence and no visible reaction to his name.

"Good good," the stranger said, clapping his hands. Dark eyes stared at him, searching for something.

"Are you in an alliance with Lord Voldemort and Albus Dumbledore?" the man suddenly asked. And Harry had no time left wondering how strange that question was, before the potion forced his lips to move.

"Yes, I signed a contract with Lord Voldemort, known as Tom Marvolo Riddle to keep me alive in exchange for cooperation," Harry said, although he didn't want to. His mouth continued to spill out his secrets. "I also contacted Dumbledore a couple of months ago, telling him what I did."

Shit. They would know everything. No matter what they asked, he couldn't defend himself against it.

Slowly, the man lowered his hood, revealing sharp cheekbones and even sharper eyes. Harry couldn't react, numb as his willpower was under the effects. He'd never seen that man before. But something about his emaciated appearance unnerved Harry. That scratchy voice was even more unnatural.

The stranger nodded, not surprised. "Did Lord Voldemort request you to play bait in order to lure us out?"

In the next second, Harry realized that this man had no trouble uttering the Dark Lord's name. No signs of fear at all.

"Yes," Harry replied, holding the man's gaze.

His answer made the other two man chuckle, although Harry couldn't for the life of him tell what was so funny about it. At least he had his confirmation. The association had taken Harry away from Nurmengard.

But why?

It's not as if they could have known that he would survive. Unless they didn't care whether he did or not.

"Did you plan on killing yourself, Mr. Potter?" The creep asked, nonchalant. Even his stance was relaxed. He was leaning against the table, arms crossed.

Harry frowned, but the answer escaped him before he could even collect his thoughts.

"No, I didn't plan my death. In fact, I counted on Headmaster Dumbledore to take care of the soul shard that linked me to Voldemort," he said, balling his hands. He didn't want to say more. But resisting was impossible. "It...was the easiest option to get rid of the Horcrux inside me. Killing myself like that was the only way."

Shit.

Predictably, that caused a reaction. The man's eyebrows rose and somewhere behind Harry one of the men gasped.

"A Horcrux?" the stranger muttered, placing his hands on the edge of the table as if to steady himself. His white robe was in perfect condition, conveying an innocence he obviously didn't possess. It was disgusting.

Harry thought they were all disgusting.

"Yes, yes. That makes sense," the man said. "After our invention failed to extract your magic, we figured that something must be wrong with your soul, boy. How interesting."

They were talking about Horcruxes and soul magic as if they had worked with that kind of magic before. Harry knew for a fact that almost no one really knew about Horcruxes. But apparently the association was familiar with that type of magic. Familiar enough to experiment with souls and anything that pertained to them.

Harry stared ahead blankly. What would they do?

He might not have cared all that much when he was fighting against Tom, but now that he was a prisoner to a bunch of power-hungry mad scientists, Harry didn't think his status as a Horcrux or former Horcrux container would go down well with them. He was now an object to be studied. Or taken apart, if they so desired.

"And when that Dementor took hold of your soul, it must have sucked in the soul shard that existed inside you. Ingenious."

There was an appreciation in the man's eyes, an appreciation that made this situation even more dangerous, Harry thought, feeling uneasy. Again his eyes drifted away, past the man's shoulder. Would he be able to escape?

"The Dark Lord created Horcruxes, Sir. More than one," one of the others said, breaking through Harry's anxiety. Right. They hadn't known.

The leader nodded, stroking his chin in thought. "It complicates matters, but right now we'll leave it at that."

"Leave it? But sir, we won't be able to ki-"

"It's not important!" the man interrupted sharply, glaring at one of the men behind Harry. The sudden, unexpected sharpness in his tone made him seem more human, not as unfeeling as Harry thought he was. Turning back towards him, the man continued.

"You are- no, you were a Horcrux. The Dark Lord's Horcrux." It wasn't a question, but Harry nodded anyways.

"And that man who killed one of our own, Patrick - had been possessed by the soul shard which managed to break away as soon as you swallowed our potion, right?"

"Yes," Harry replied, memories of his torture momentarily breaking through the fog inside his mind. That had been unpleasant.

"But you were _still linked_ , an in order to break that link, the only solution was your death," the leader murmured, a bout of excitement coloring his words. Suddenly, he pushed away from the table, kneeling in front of Harry. His scarred hands grasped Harry's shoulders and the proximity was unwelcome and unexpected. Harry swallowed hard, wondering when this interrogation would end. And how?

"How are you alive? How did you survive, Potter? And how did you know Dementors would be patrolling the prison?" he asked, his voice sharp and breathless. Even his eyes looked alert, expecting something.

"I-" Harry bit his lip again. He didn't want to say it. Why should he say it? But it was no use fighting the effects. It didn't work.

"Potter!" Fingers dug into his shoulders.

"I- I knew that in your main hideout you would have Dementors working for you," Harry began, angry at himself for being so weak. "Some of you have worked on copies of the Elder Wand and you needed parts of a Dementor to create them. An unlimited supply, if possible." Harry remembered Yassine's words and even Gregorovitch. The fact that the association was skilled enough to even enslave Dementors should have been frightening. These creatures were independent, as far as Harry was aware.

"As soon as I saw that they were guarding Grindelwald, I took my chances," Harry said, holding the man's gaze. "It was the only option left that wouldn't require burning to death by Fiendfyre or swallowing Basilisk venom. I wasn't ready to die. I didn't fight for so long just to give up in the end. I counted on Dumbledore to solve my problem." The words were filled with bitterness, his real feelings strong enough to push away the hollowness of Veritaserum. Right now Harry wished he could just shut up.

"The old man wouldn't have been able to, Potter," the man murmured. There was an odd gleam to his eyes, something indescribable. "Creating Horcruxes is a violation of nature. And getting rid of them without death or destruction of their container is simply not possible."

Thanks a lot. Harry wanted to punch him.

"So you took the least damaging option, although letting the Dark Lord or even someone else throw a killing curse at you would have been more pleasant, I guess." The man's blatantly uncaring attitude was annoying as hell. Nevertheless, he finally let go of Harry.

Harry breathed out, slumping against his seat and trying to ignore the handcuffs which were digging into his skin.

"It makes sense, though. The Kiss doesn't technically kill a wizard or witch. Not in the general sense. But it works on the level of soul magic, while keeping the body intact." The man smirked. "Well done, Potter. Well done. You know more than I thought you would. But that still doesn't explain how you survived."

The words prompted Harry to answer.

"The Dark Lord took my blood," he said, ignoring the gasps behind him. "Supposedly to strengthen his body, which had been artificially created by taking someone's blood, bones and flesh. My blood contains my mother's protection against Voldemort. But initially he had taken Neville Longbottom's blood." The words sounded robotic to Harry's ears. Foreign.

"The amount he took- it must have been enough to keep me tethered to life."

Suddenly, the leader began to laugh, a high-pitched sound escaping him and confusing Harry. Was the man somehow deranged or something? The other two kept wisely silent.

"This is priceless. Absolutely priceless," the man gasped, grinning from ear to ear. "It's what the prophecy must have been about. And now you are _truly free_ , Mr. Potter." Again, he clapped, staring at Harry with something akin to admiration.

Right. The association knew about the prophecy. Fuck. Harry didn't even register the words. What was freedom, if he was now unable to escape these people? There had been the Dursleys. And Karkaroff. And then Voldemort. Dumbledore and the wizarding world's expectations right after. Then he met Tom.

And now it was them.

Harry wasn't free. Hadn't ever experienced true freedom.

It was all a joke and his life was just a fucked up illusion.

"I must congratulate you, Mr. Potter. Quick thinking on your part and I must say Alfred was right about you. You are more useful alive than dead." The man smiled, his arm outstretched in invitation. "And now you'll be here for a very long time."

Eyes widening, Harry stared at the lunatic, unable to comprehend the situation.

* * *

The end of term changed everything and nothing.

Mercia sat in the back of the classroom, placing her quill on the desk and taking one last look at the parchment. Exams had been hell, but nothing could be worse than sitting in a school with a group of idiots and waiting for nothing. Expecting nothing.

Because Harry Potter was gone. Possibly forever.

Months had passed with not a single word of him or the new professor who had abruptly left the castle on the same night as Potter. Needless to say, the school was in an uproar and even Norway's ministry people had decided to pay countless visits. Aurors had searched the castle.

They found nothing other than a collection of obscure texts inside the professor's private rooms.

Potter's stuff had mysteriously disappeared.

It was inevitable now. The Boy-Who-Lived had either left Durmstrang or he'd been killed along the way. With the attack on Nurmengard's prison and Grindelwald's disappearance, the public freaked out, turning this war into an even messier affair.

Sighing, Mercia tried to ignore the curious stares of her classmates, as she packed up, ready to go home for the holidays. It was useless to hope. Useless to think she could find the answers.

Every single day her classmates would come up to her, asking about Potter. People who had been part of their study and training group sometimes stared at her, as if Mercia was responsible for Potter's disappearance.

Even Dolohov's accusing stares got to her, although she had no clue why people thought she had all the answers. True, inside the castle she had been the closest to Potter, but Mercia didn't appreciate the attention, the looks.

The worst thing about it all was Krum, who obviously knew more than he let on, if only for the fact that he'd been always suspicious of the new professor. Krum kept silent. And nobody gave a damn.

And that's how it was now. Durmstrang would need to adjust. And Mercia needed to learn how to rely on herself. Waiting for Potter wouldn't change anything about the war.

"Are you coming?" Dolohov suddenly asked, turning around to look at her. The Transfigurations professor summoned the parchments, dismissing everyone in the process.

"Yes," she murmured. There was nothing she could do. Absolutely nothing.

* * *

Godric's Hollow was timeless, a place where nostalgia sneaked up on people, making visitors and former residents wallow in memories.

Albus Dumbledore stared at the nameless tombstone decorating a new, fresh grave. No one would know that the second most powerful Dark Lord was buried here. If people knew, they would judge him for it. Judge him for desecrating the resting place of so many innocent people.

Still, Gellert deserved to be buried. Because Albus had not learned how to let go, couldn't just erase Gellert's existence with a wave of his wand just to honor his family, his sister. Revenge was useless, after all. And he'd never felt inclined to go after the man who had dragged him down to a place without family. And love was overpowering. Complicated, messy. Interfering with reason.

Bittersweet.

He lowered his head, not even caring about the rain that was slowly but surely seeping through his robe. He could have shielded himself. But Albus needed to feel.

To feel anything other than hollow, raw pain.

Or the darkness suddenly invading the cemetery, bringing with it familiar power and destruction, disturbing the victims of it and haunting a world beyond the living.

"Tom," Dumbledore said, not turning around.

Still, he could feel the man close by, near the place where the Potters were buried. It was an insult to the dead. And so typical of a man who had never experienced the ability to feel anything other than hatred. But then, Lord Voldemort wasn't a man, was he?

"Hello, Albus."

The voice was cutting, mockery tainting each syllable.

Dumbledore sighed.

"You should not be here," he said, filling the silence with meaningless words. They both knew that it was useless to talk to each other. He'd tried. Again and again. And Tom Riddle never listened.

"Strange." A pause, but the Dark Lord remained where he was and Dumbledore slowly turned around, watching as pale hands hovered over the familiar inscription. He could see it from here. _The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death_.

Voldemort smiled.

"You shouldn't be here either. But rules never applied to you. Or ethics. Ethics you expect others to abide by." Crimson eyes met his. "What would the wizarding world think?"

"Why are you here, Tom?"

They both stared at each other, rain mingling with the earth and making tombstones gleam all around them.

Of course, the dark wizard wouldn't answer. He would just continue to play this game. A game that neither of them could win, apparently. Shielding the nameless resting place from view, Dumbledore stepped forward.

"To pay my last respect to her, of course." A frown appeared, marring that handsome face. Dumbledore suspected that Tom had absorbed at least one of his Horcruxes, although he couldn't think of a reason why Tom would do that. To stabilize the resurrection ritual he must have performed? Certainly Voldemort could feel no remorse. Wouldn't even want to.

"The mudblood managed to bring an extraordinary gift into this world. One I fully intend to possess," Voldemort said.

Dumbledore's lips thinned, distaste gripping at him. Tom would never understand anything. But they both knew Harry was still alive. And so this game between them would continue.

"Harry is not an object."

Long fingers followed the path of the inscription and Voldemort tilted his head to the side, continuing to smile.

"Really?" Disbelief crossed the man's expression, though not without a hint of mirth. "Grief doesn't suit you. Or did you forget that it was your plan to send Harry Potter to his death? A chess piece in your game of martyrdom."

"Your Horcrux, you mean," Albus said, ignoring the accusations.

The words were out in the open finally. It was useless trying to pretend. But Voldemort's considering expression didn't help matters at all.

"I pity you, Albus Dumbledore," Voldemort suddenly said. "It is you who fails to see beyond the parameters you set. I have already won this war."

His words were unexpected, an uncharacteristic seriousness to them which made Dumbledore pause. Strange. But something else lingered inside his mind, too.

"Why did you let Harry go, Tom?"

Albus wouldn't have been able to get to Harry on time, with Gellert dying in his arms. But Voldemort had sent his Death Eaters after the association. He could have easily prevented Harry's fate. So why didn't he intervene?

Voldemort straightened from his position.

Pale lips curled upwards.

"Why should I destroy them when I can let Harry do it for me? And when he returns, he will be even more _perfect_."

With that, the Dark Lord Disapparated.


	32. Destined for Greatness

His 14th birthday was spent in the darkness of his new room, courtesy of that irritating, old man Alfred Clarke. A man Harry had never expected to see again.

Harry would have never believed that anyone remembered his life before Durmstrang. Or that he would encounter such a person again. But Clarke had always been a wizard. And he'd always watched out for him; a stalker of some sort who had been working for _them_ all along, pretending to care.

Yet, from what Harry knew, _they_ hadn't really known much about him before Harry went to Durmstrang. Gregorovitch hadn't known. Karkaroff was unaware. Which meant Clarke must have kept his activities a secret from the association.

But now this.

Betrayal was a familiar concept to him. This time though, it merely reminded Harry of his own foolishness, back when he had been living with the Dursleys. Trusting strangers just because they helped you from time to time wasn't worth the trouble that would follow later. And it followed him right into the wizarding world.

He was a prisoner.

His new room consisted of white walls that reminded Harry of a padded room. It wasn't a room really, although many people would beg to differ. To Harry, it was more of a prison that gave you the illusion of freedom. It had been given to him on purpose, of course. A huge chandelier cast flickering light across every corner, illuminating the landscape paintings and sturdy furniture, which was crammed into the room. A coffee table made out of solid, dark wood and an assortment of chairs decorated the space near the windows. Harry had a grand view of the well-maintained garden and could always step outside, enjoying the view from the balcony. Yes, he had that much freedom. Right up until the moment he would hit the Anti-Apparition wards...

A massive four poster bed similar to the one at Potter manor took up most of the space. The embroidered cushions were placed for the sake of appearance rather than comfort, Harry thought, remembering his many sleepless nights in this room. His new home had everything he needed, and yet it reminded him constantly of the situation he was currently in.

The only positive outcome was the fact that Harry had access to books. Books that wouldn't see the daylight ever again. The association hoarded books that had been banned in several countries, including Norway and England. He was certain that Voldemort himself would have appreciated the sheer collection these people had amassed over the last centuries.

They were obsessed with magical knowledge of any kind, which is why it had been surprising when Alfred declared that Harry could actually read whatever he liked. Naturally, he had decided to research the wards surrounding the manor. A manor that the association used as another base, one of the last ones remaining intact, after the Death Eaters went on a rampage all across Europe.

Harry's research had been fruitless.

He had no idea how many bases they had, but since the destruction of Nurmengard, it was clear that there weren't that many options left. Voldemort had done an incredible job so far, even without Harry's help.

Which brought him to another issue Harry needed to think over. If Voldemort hadn't needed his help in drawing them out, then what was the purpose of that deal they had struck? A deal that should have caused some sort of magical backlash for Voldemort, after he had deliberately let the association take him away.

Nothing happened. At least, nothing Harry could sense. Though, he probably couldn't really sense anything about the man anymore.

Green eyes stared unseeingly at the door.

He had died.

That was certain.

He had died and he had come back to life because of that strange link he'd shared with the Dark Lord. A link, which had been reinforced after Voldemort had taken Harry's blood to strengthen his body.

It should feel liberating, really. Being free of the taint of the Horcrux and having your soul finally belonging to yourself and only to yourself. Instead, Harry felt hollow inside.

He knew for a fact that it wasn't magic, since he'd gotten much better control over it after the forced separation of the souls. No, it was hard to describe, but if Harry could guess, he would say it affected him emotionally.

On top of that, Harry couldn't remember anything when the Dementor _Kissed him_. Everything was blank, cold and just empty.

Which was completely insane. He should be celebrating right now. Harry was free to do whatever he wanted in this war, now that he didn't have to play the martyr or prophecy child anymore. His connection to Voldemort was nonexistent and so was his role in this mess. He was done.

And yet it was far from over.

Clenching his hands, Harry bit his lip, stifling the sound of frustration that was bubbling up inside him. Merlin, he needed to get out of here.

Restlessness gnawed at him and it was only the infrequent interruption of Karkaroff that provided a bit more entertainment. Right on time, the man himself walked inside his room, throwing the door open with an impervious air that didn't mask the nervousness characterizing each step. His harsh features contorted into frustration, sharp eyes landing on Harry's still figure sitting near the windows.

"Get up, we're going."

Harry frowned, inspecting the weathered appearance of his old headmaster.

"I'm still surprised they would let you live after everything." Smiling a bit, Harry's eyes wandered, seeing the stiff shoulders and the ill-fitting, white robe covering the man's frail body. Karkaroff was a mess and evidently he'd gone through a lot in order to stay under the radar. It had been useless.

Karkaroff scoffed, entirely unimpressed.

"Keep your comments to yourself, boy. It won't do you any good in here." He waited for Harry to follow him, obviously impatient to get this over with.

Harry kept his hands behind his back, crossing the threshold and ignoring the man's disdainful looks.

"They must have done something to make you compliant. I wonder what happened?"

Harry really did. Karkaroff didn't strike him as someone who would simply go back to the status quo after changing his allegiance. The man was cowardly, but clever enough to evade certain traps.

A glance sideways revealed nothing. Karkaroff was a prisoner just like Harry, but something must have obviously changed, since he was working for them again.

"Self-preservation happened," Karkaroff said eventually. "Now keep quiet."

They walked in silence, the corridors twisting and leading to one of the many rooms that were guarded better than any Gringotts vaults. Harry knew it all by heart now, but he also knew there was no escape for him. Not even by force.

His steps were light and confident, although he really felt out of his element. Months had passed with no solution. And he had no wand, of course. It had been taken from him at some point, perhaps even lost in the chaos at Nurmengard. Who knew?

Being defenseless like that was even worse than being forced to live inside that room.

Torches flickered to life and they passed a couple of nameless guards who looked at them suspiciously, probably waiting for Harry or Karkaroff to act out. Not that they could do much. Harry stared ahead, preparing himself for another one of those mindless conversations with people who hadn't even bothered to tell him their names. It was a pretty one-sided relationship, as Harry was often forced to answer questions, sometimes even with the use of Veritaserum, if he felt particularly rebellious.

Knowing that these people now knew more about him than Tom Riddle had after the separation was torture in itself. Harry hated that. Hated how people could pick him apart at will. He hated being forced to live here, pretending that he wasn't just a glorified prisoner.

In fact, he could now safely say that the association was attempting to groom him, to turn him into a puppet just like Grindelwald had been. The fact that they could do this, that they could take a wizard's will away from him with nothing more than potions, spells and their intricate knowledge of the human mind was absolutely terrifying.

Tom Riddle had been right. Harry was inexperienced in that type of warfare against these enemies. What the Aurors had taught him, didn't prepare Harry for this. The only solution was to play their games for a little longer. Harry hoped that he wouldn't turn out to be an unresponsive mess like the former Dark Lord.

Karkaroff knocked on the door, his rigid stance screaming revulsion. And yet he played the servant well.

"Come in," someone called, the voice smooth in a way that made Harry shudder in disgust. He hoped that he would find these people again, memorize their faces in case he needed to find them and strike back. Harry had every intention of succeeding and escaping this madness and he would. After that, everything was fair game.

The door opened, wards dropping slightly and recognizing both Harry and Karkaroff at once. Following the older wizard inside, Harry instantly reinforced his minor Occlumency shields, despite the fact that they wouldn't be able to hold against a proper onslaught.

The heat hit him at once and Harry frowned, instantly noticing the roaring fireplace illuminating the interior of this place, casting the profiles of various witches and wizards into light. They were having dinner and the numerous white robes gleamed brightly, reflected against the polished table in the center.

Harry recognized Alfred sitting on the left, close to one of the leading figures. The man at the head of the table was staring at Harry intently, and Alfred regarded him with kind eyes, so unlike the curious expressions of so many people who probably thought Harry was a nice experiment to work on.

"Please take a seat, Harry," the leader voiced, his hand gesturing for him to sit right next to Alfred. Great.

Harry grimaced, but kept his comments to himself as he crossed the room, ignoring the stares. Karkaroff wanted to follow him, but the unknown man held up his hand again, indicating for him to leave. Looking back, Harry caught the veiled expression of contempt on Karkaroff's face, but he had also learned not to provoke him further, especially in the company of these people. Nobody paid the man any attention as he left.

Harry leaned back slightly, taking a napkin and folding it properly. It was one of those nights where everyone pretended to be nice to him. He was sick of that, too. Alfred briefly clasped his shoulder, somehow attempting to offer him a measure of comfort, which was idiotic, of course. The hand felt restrictive.

"I hope you had enough time to reconsider our offer, Harry," the man began, blue eyes regarding Harry's features with something that could only be described as admiration. It was creepy, since those eyes reminded Harry of Dumbledore.

His mouth twisted, that feeling of anxiety mixed with disgust making it hard for him to say anything. But he steeled himself for another interrogation. He had to.

"Oh, I have enough time." Harry took his fork, briefly considering how he could gouge the man's eyes out with it. "I have so much time now. I don't even know what to do with it. But honestly?"

The man leaned forward, amusement evident in his expression.

Harry smiled. "Working for you, or even with you is the last thing on my mind. Counting sheep is more fascinating than anything you lot have to offer."

Instead of anger, people all around him smirked at Harry, some even chuckling in delight, as if Harry's insults meant nothing. Perhaps they didn't, but that didn't mean Harry would ever consider their stupid offer.

That man had offered him a lot in exchange for Harry's loyalty. A month ago, they had told him that with the Horcrux now gone, Harry's freedom and life no longer depended on the outcome of the war. Voldemort would die and Harry wouldn't need to play a part in this anymore.

True. He'd figured that out for himself. But that didn't mean Voldemort wouldn't still want to kill Harry, just to make sure. Harry even suspected that Voldemort's offer for immunity had been nothing but a joke, right from the start. Why though? Why keep Harry alive?

Still, that new offer was simple. Voldemort would die, by all means necessary. And Harry would be protected like never before. But that meant he would also work for them, do all the things these people did. And that wouldn't ever happen. Harry had seen too much death already to get entangled in these affairs. He would _never_ make himself dependent on someone else, just to stay alive. He would never give up on his principles, his morals like that. There were things in life, he realized now, that mattered more than self-preservation. Harry was no Karkaroff. And wouldn't lower himself like that.

Dropping his fork, he raised his head to stare at this man; this stranger who hadn't even bothered to introduce himself.

"It would be proper if you finally told me your name, or shall I call you mighty leader of the Unsullied Ones?"

The man smirked, his dirty blond hair obscuring his face partially. Another round of laughter followed Harry's question and it took every ounce of strength not to snap at them. What the hell was so funny?

"We have no leader," the man replied, after taking a sip of his drink. "Well, we have no leader in the traditional sense. What we have is people willing to step up from time to time to take more responsibility, but what we are is ultimately a community, not a structured organization from top to bottom."

Harry frowned, regarding the man. "That doesn't even make sense. Someone must give you orders, or direct people to do certain things."

The witch sitting opposite Harry crossed her arms, shifting forward. "Orders? I think you really misunderstand us or maybe you are simply misinformed," she said, making Harry turn away from the piercing gaze of the unknown man. "Orders are not beliefs, Potter. What each and everyone of us does is working for the good of all, not obeying the words of single men who believe what is good for all." Her saddened expression surprised Harry a bit. Evidently, these people did put a lot of thought into their actions.

"Call it a form of democracy, if you like," the man said suddenly, picking up his glass again.

"And forcing people to do your bidding or stealing their magic is democracy?" Harry scoffed, remembering Hepzibah's journal and the disappearance of so many famous and talented witches and wizards. "You kill people, chop them up into body parts. You take away their magic and invent potions and wands that rip out and destabilize souls."

Holding the man's stare, Harry continued. "You have _nothing_ to offer me. I can protect myself from Voldemort and it's you who are currently losing the fight against him. Not me."

"You are Ignotus's heir, are you not?" the man interrupted, startling Harry. Alfred suddenly took Harry's hand, forcing him to drop the knife he'd unconsciously picked up.

"Excuse me?" Harry asked. What did that...?

Blue eyes sharpened. "You are the rightful heir to the Deathly Hallows and the only one capable of becoming the true Master of Death, since Riddle is too frightened of his own shadow, too frightened to confront something as natural as Death."

Okay, that was unexpected. Harry stilled. Thoughts raced as he stared at the man and all the others, seeing grim faces, curious ones. The association had an unnatural obsession with the Deathly Hallows. That had been clear. But was that the reason why he was now a prisoner? Because he was a descendant from the Peverell line?

"You _will_ become the Master of Death, Harry. There's no doubt about that. And you obviously know what it means, correct?" The man smiled and Harry had a hard time remembering to keep his head clear. These people were good at manipulation and obviously they wanted something from him, something that went beyond simple work.

"What's it to you?" Narrowing his eyes, Harry looked for any hints that would reveal the man. "Besides, I don't need the ability to call the Dead. I just need-"

"Ah, so the boy has done his research," someone else called, clapping. "Well done, Potter. Well done."

"You were planning on collecting the Elder Wand, to find out how to protect yourself against Voldemort, or even Dumbledore," Alfred said, leaning back in his chair.

"Well done, Clarke. Well done," Harry mocked, not in the mood for mind games.

"Becoming the Master of Death is much more serious than that." The blond wizard stared at someone in the back, nodding at him briefly. "Nobody knows exactly if collecting all the Hallows simply allows one to communicate with people long gone. You could technically become immune to death, if you succeeded. You could become invisible for life, if the cloak's powers took over. There are hints to this legend, but no facts."

"Or it won't work," someone murmured.

The fireplace threw more and more shadows at the walls, making them dance and creating an atmosphere that somehow made Harry feel cold all of a sudden. Now that he was free of the whole Horcrux business, he really didn't need to become the Master of Death. He didn't need the Elder Wand, except maybe as means of protecting himself from Voldemort's attacks.

Harry knew he wasn't strong enough to fight against the Dark Lord. He could train for years and it would still take a very long time to catch up to the man. Taking shortcuts like this was worth it, but if these people were convinced that the whole Master of Death stuff was so serious, well...

He didn't want to become immortal, or invisible or some sort of Necromancer. Not even if it meant permanent safety from the Dark Lord.

As if reading his thoughts, the leader suddenly stood, giving Harry one last indecipherable look, before turning his back. His white robe was even more distinguished and pristine, Harry thought, smiling a bit. These people could pretend all they wanted. Some people in this community were treated better than others, were regarded as more important. And no amount of sugarcoating would change the truth. Harry remembered that some of them had called others "master" in the past. It was now all a matter of figuring out what they wanted.

And how to stop it.

"No matter what you think, we believe we can protect you until your time comes to become greater than anyone who can pose a threat to you," the man said, his voice steady. "For centuries, the wars between light and dark here in Britain disrupted peoples' lives. Sometimes it was a mild rebellion, at other times we had to deal with too much death. But we want to stop this nonsense about light and dark magic."

"So you kill people," Harry said, staring coldly at the man's back. "You wanted to kill me."

"No, Harry." Alfred smiled at him again, his crooked teeth clearly visible. "We wanted to find ways around this man-made distinction between dark and light magic. For that, we needed a source. We needed people, powerful and talented people who would commit to the research."

"It doesn't change a thing." Harry wanted to laugh. He really did. These people understood nothing. "Just because you want to end a certain conflict, it doesn't give you the right to do what you do." Harry knew that. They would never be able to change his mind about that, because morality and respect for human life was long gone in this place.

"But humor me for a moment," Harry said, before anyone could interrupt again. "What exactly are you looking for?"

Suddenly, the temperature inside the room dropped and there was an excitement lingering in the air that made the hairs on the back of Harry's head stand up. The smiles and content expressions didn't make sense.

"Your self-righteousness really knows no boundaries, Potter," the witch said, breaking the silence. "Believe me, there will come a time when even you won't be able to justify your actions with something as feeble as self-defense." People nodded in agreement, making Harry bristle. He was not a murderer. Not like them.

Before it could escalate, the wizard suddenly turned around, the fireplace illuminating him in ways that made him look...unreal. Harry stared.

"We're looking for Magic. Magic in its most natural state, free. Magic as it has always been and always will be."

"And you will help us with that," Alfred said, as if it was final.

* * *

The ministry was buzzing with activity, Aurors and other departments creating chaos in the corridors. Gawain Robards grimaced in pain, his headache making it impossible for him to think clearly. His office looked like a mess of flying Memos, and more Aurors dropped file after file on his desk. He would never be able to work on that without proper assistance and the only one to blame for the state of his office was You-Know-Who.

The attacks stepped up and not a day went by without Muggles disappearing or high key Aurors getting into a trap set up by Death Eaters. At the same time, he felt that more and more department heads got themselves into trouble that made it easy for outside forces to invade the ministry by means of simple politics.

Corruption had always been rampant. Even more so under Minister Fudge. With Scrimgeour taking over, some sort of order had been established but that didn't mean people were not susceptible to bribery and manipulation. And with the war going on in the outside world, people tended to prioritize their lives more than the safety of all. It was pathetic.

And even more pathetic was the fact that he was getting immune to certain potions that would take away this stabbing pain. Bowing his head, Gawain leaned heavily against his desk, his arms feeling like someone had pulled him in all directions.

Perhaps he was getting too old for this.

"Auror Robards," someone called and Gawain looked up, seeing a Junior Auror standing in the doorway, nervously fiddling with the hem of his robe. Great. Another kid that wanted to bother him.

Just hours ago, Mercia had visited him, along with her chatty friend from Germany, asking all kinds of strange questions about the Department of Mysteries and making Gawain even more irritable in the process. What the hell were they teaching young kids at Durmstrang these days?

He really didn't have time for this.

"A visitor from Norway is waiting for you. Said it's about Harry Potter," the young wizard explained, eyes wide.

Fuck.

"Let him in."

And with that, the Auror hurried away, coming back as quickly as possible, followed by a man who was unmistakably an Auror from Norway, probably Oslo, as indicated by his robe's color. Whatever it was, this meeting would require more attention, which he really didn't want to give. But well... Potter.

That was a Class 1 case he needed to work on.

A regal, imposing, but young Auror stepped inside his office, briefly taking in the parchments and cups of coffee decorating his desk. Gawain flushed, suddenly ashamed. The man in front of him was obviously someone with a reputation, if his formal stance and insignia was an indication.

What did that say about England's Auror forces, if Gawain couldn't even keep his workplace in order? His day went from worse to shit.

The door closed behind the man.

"Auror Rendahl, at your service," the man said, his thick accent and customary greeting as confident as the gaze that fell on Gawain. He had no choice but to get up and shake the Auror's hand, not wanting to appear rude.

"What can I do for you?" he asked, offering the man the visitor's seat. Merlin, he needed to clean those cups.

Rendahl was graceful in the way he moved, and he was polite enough not to make any unnecessary remarks, which was all the blessings Gawain needed in a situation like this. Working with foreigners on cases was unusual and he hadn't heard anything from Scrimgeour.

The young Auror went straight to business.

"As you've probably heard, I come with news about Potter. Something that might help us track him down."

He stared at Rendahl, letting the words flow through his mind. "Us?" he asked finally, crossing his legs. "Forgive me, but I didn't think an official announcement was made that would indicate more than one department working on the case."

Rendahl made a face, obviously unhappy with the situation. "You're right. There isn't. Let's just say my boss, the Minister, doesn't agree with what I'm attempting to do."

"Then we can't form an alliance," Gawain said promptly. The man was going behind the Minister's back, which was a serious issue. He should report that. "You must understand that I would need Minister Scrimgeour's approval to share our findings with a foreign department."

"Potter is an issue pertaining to both countries." The words were uttered forcefully, with conviction and impatience, as if something was troubling Rendahl. What was going on with that man?

"And Potter has illegally acquired the means of changing citizenship without having a guardian signing it for him. We have a bigger problem at hand. You know that and I know that," he explained, his annoyance with the case leaking through. Potter's disappearance had hit the wizarding world hard. And now Gawain needed to deal with the consequences.

Rendahl didn't seem to care. "Jurisdiction is a bit tricky. But _this is about Harry Potter_ , sir."

As if that explained everything.

"I will regret this."

Perhaps it did.

* * *

Full moon. It wouldn't be long now until he was forced to change again.

Remus sighed, holding the covers up, as if it could shield him from any light. Bed rest had never been something he indulged in, but his recovery took time, especially after such a brutal Death Eater attack. He would get better, of course. But the conditions of this particular hiding place were not to his liking, although Albus Dumbledore had tried his best to help him. He should be grateful, honestly. Not many mediwitches or wizards wanted to treat a werewolf.

The bed was uncomfortable, though, the mattress digging into his back. Rolling on his stomach didn't help either. Sleepless nights became more frequent.

Two weeks and then he would be out of this place, though, rejoining the Order. On the desk, newspapers scattered across the surface, each and every single day bringing more horrors into this world. And he couldn't do anything to stop this. Couldn't even save Harry, who's been missing for months now. If something happened to him, Remus would never be able to forgive himself.

He should have tried harder. Should have done everything in his power to convince the child to come with him to Hogwarts. And now this.

His muscles ached, but the emotional pain these days numbed it, his worries taking precedence over his health.

Harry...

The clouds moved, covering the glaring sunlight and only the candlelight inside his room gave him some comfort. He needed to get better.

And he needed to find -

Someone was suddenly blocking the light and Remus stiffened, not having heard anyone enter. How?

A large shadow fell over him and Remus blinked rapidly, cursing himself for his slow movements and even slower senses. He didn't remember Albus saying anything about visitors. No one visited him anyway, except the healer. And that was two hours ago.

Maybe he should pick up his wand. Yes, that was a good idea.

Except for the fact that the shadow was now standing right in front of him, no, kneeling at his bedside.

And Remus looked up, taking in the haggard appearance, the unwashed hair and stained prison garments. And slowly his eyes locked with a familiar, yet haunted gaze that he hadn't seen in years.

He wanted to scream. Because having Sirius Black standing in his room was akin to a nightmare.

* * *

_Harry._

His name again, uttered gently, but insistent. Green eyes blinked open, adjusting to the darkness and sudden awareness. It had only been a dream, but the dreams were vivid in ways that screamed danger, even persuasion. A distinct feeling of pleasure overcame Harry and he shuddered, drawing the covers up. The dreams...so unlike anything he'd ever experienced before.

He recognized the voice and in his dreams he saw a man, older than the Horcrux, more powerful and experienced. But unmistakably the same man. Tom Riddle or Voldemort invaded his mind, and the link between them was _stronger_ than ever before.

How was that possible?

Miles away, Voldemort stood near the windows, watching the sunrise.

He smiled.


	33. Freedom

"How did you get in here?"

Remus pushed past his anger and horror to focus on his former friend. A man who, going by his attitude, hadn't changed much in spite of his Azkaban stint. Confident, with a shadow of familiar arrogance tainting the picture.

"Is that really what you want to know, Moony?" Sirius paced inside the room, his eyes scanning every corner for potential threats. "I know you can't stand the sight of me and there's nothing that will convince you of the truth unless I find a _certain rat_ again. But I'm not here for that."

Mad ramblings from a madman. Remus couldn't help but find it fascinating and terrifying at the same time. Holding his side, he pushed himself forward, the pain of his injuries making the movements slow.

"What are you talking about?" he asked carefully. "You're here for Harry? You want to what? Kill him?"

He would kill Sirius before the man could even come close. Protecting Harry was and would always be Remus's priority.

Sirius barked out a laugh, the sound making the other wizard flinch. "This is going to be a long night," the convict said, repeatedly shaking his head. "No, and before you throw more accusations at me, let me just tell you that I didn't kill James and Lily that night. Peter did."

"Wonderful bedtime story, Sirius. I'm impressed," Remus hissed, angry. How dare him?

"Believe what you will." The haggard wizard made a dismissive gesture. "This is the truth. And I'm just here to find my godson and to take him home with me. Dumbledore and the Wizengamot and even You-Know-Who won't stop me in that."

"I won't let you."

Turning fully toward him, Sirius stared, eyes suddenly flashing dangerously, a hidden emotion speaking of all the horrors he must have endured in prison. Remus couldn't think of a way to fight him. Not when he was like this. Not when both of them had turned into different people.

"No? And what will you do?" the wizard mocked, eyes on the bandages. "The Death Eaters must have really done a number on you to reduce you to this. You used to be better at dueling."

He wouldn't be intimidated by that man. Squaring his shoulders, Remus held his gaze.

"Get it over with then. Kill me."

Sirius grinned. "What's Dumbledore doing to ensure Harry's safety?" he asked, dismissing the comment. "Nothing, right? He's just dangled my godson like some sort of object in front of all the dark wizards in the world. He hasn't even trained him properly."

"You aren't making any sense."

"I know the truth," Sirius said, utterly in command. "He and the Order. They left Harry with those Muggles instead of protecting him. And now he's run off to Durmstrang, learning Merlin knows what and the next thing I find out is that he's making _deals with the devil_."

His friend was furious.

And rightfully so. The shame came back, just as forceful and Remus bowed his head, trying to hide it from his friend. He had failed in this. He had failed in many things.

"I tried-," he breathed.

"You didn't try enough," Sirius shot back, stepping away from the bed to reach the windows. "Dumbledore and McGonagall and everyone else. They didn't do anything while I was forced to rot in Azkaban. And you...Didn't peg you for a coward but here you are."

Remus instantly reached for his wand, knowing how fruitless it would be, but Sirius already opened the windows, no longer caring what happened to him. Or both of them, really. He acted like a man on a mission.

"I will find Peter. And when I do, you'll be sorry for a lot of things." Gazing at him, the faint light from outside illuminated the man's mournful expression, making Remus still. "At least I had an excuse. You on the other hand..."

And with that he jumped, disappearing and leaving nothing behind other than cold shock and memories of a past Remus wanted to hold onto, but couldn't anymore. It was simply too painful.

* * *

Harry was unimpressed.

Being dragged into the middle of nowhere, with nothing but Karkaroff's pleasant company as entertainment, reminded Harry of a time when joining the wizarding world had meant this. Utter dependency. His white robes just added to the humiliation. He looked so much like one of _them_.

He'd burn this thing the moment he got out of here.

"They trust you a lot to let you do this," Harry commented lightly, staring at the limestone building in front of them. It was ugly and there was hardly anything to brighten the atmosphere.

"No, Potter." Karkaroff marched forward, not bothering to face Harry. "You have earned their trust. The association doesn't think it's necessary to supervise you anymore."

 _It has nothing to do with me_ , remained unspoken.

"It's not like I've done much," Harry mumbled, remembering one of the men leading their group lowering the wards around Harry's room. Harry had even gotten his wand back, to both Karkaroff's and Harry's surprise.

"Be happy about that," Karkaroff gruffed, knocking on the wooden door as soon as they reached it. Their conversation must have alerted the inhabitants inside, although Harry couldn't imagine why people would want to live in this place willingly.

"Some people are not so lucky," the dark wizard said, before the door was thrown open. Harry expected hags or maybe a poor witch or wizard from the association to greet them. It had been heavily implied that this house belonged to them, perhaps functioning as base. Instead they were both greeted by a small child.

Karkaroff's lips parted, but the girl just curtsied, having expected them. "You're here to visit our home," she said, a bit shy. "Mrs. Doyle is waiting in the parlor."

She couldn't be more than six, Harry thought, wondering where this was going. Going by Karkaroff's flabbergasted expression, he didn't know either. The girl, however, merely blinked and let them inside, closing the door behind Harry. Immediately, he noticed the sheer poverty ravaging this place. Wallpapers were pealing off, and with every step he took, Harry feared that the floor would give out. The gloomy atmosphere hung over their heads, startling both of them. And even from the way the girl was dressed, Harry could imagine that life inside this house wasn't easy. He didn't want to draw more conclusions.

They went to the sitting room and more and more children ran past them, laughing and playing around, their occasional accidental magic showing that this house wasn't part of the Muggle world. A few kids would stop to look at Harry curiously, before running back to what must be their rooms. But that was it, really. No one looked unhappy to be here.

"Is that...an orphanage?" Harry asked, looking around.

Karkaroff kept his mouth shut, though, merely following the little girl until they reached their destination. The child smiled brightly, before pointing at another door, waving at Harry before she left. How weird. If that was an actual orphanage, Harry didn't know what to think of it. He'd never heard of any wizarding orphanage where people were genuinely happy to be there. In fact, wizarding orphanages were incredibly rare, since Britain preferred not to finance them at all.

Mismatched furniture came into view and on a rickety chair Harry noticed an old woman sitting there, surrounded by her knitting work. She immediately looked up, her smile widening as soon as she noticed Karkaroff standing in the doorway. Even that was unusual. The former headmaster didn't return her smile, but he didn't treat her disrespectfully either, from what Harry could see.

"Madam Doyle. It's a pleasure to see you again," he said, pushing Harry forward slightly. Great. Harry rolled his eyes, not enjoying any of this in the slightest, although it had much to do with the old man. The witch however continued to smile, approaching them calmly, her slightly hunched back not detracting from her overall confidence.

"You say the nicest things, Igor. Did they put you up to this?" the witch asked, eyebrows raised.

Harry stilled, waiting for Karkaroff's reaction.

"I was meant to show Mr. Potter how it's like to live here." The wizard didn't even blink, although he kept his distance to her. And that was new information, since Karkaroff hadn't bothered to tell Harry what they were supposed to do here.

"I see," Madam Doyle replied, impassive. "Well, that's fine. I'll show the boy around. You can return to your superiors," she said. "I assume that they finally let him go, didn't they."

The wizard's expression darkened, but he nodded, giving Harry a last warning stare.

Well, Harry didn't care. This was his first step towards freedom since Merlin knows how long and he'd use the opportunity to escape all of this once and for all.

"Just go, alright."

Karkaroff grimaced, but surprisingly he didn't put up much of a fight. "Don't do anything stupid, boy," he said, before turning around and leaving. How anti-climatic.

The door was closed again and Harry was left behind, turning fully towards this unknown witch to see what she would do. What the association wanted _her_ to do. It was pretty clear that this orphanage must be under their control, since she seemed to have a rather intimate knowledge of their current hierarchy.

"So, the boys and girls at the base must have left you in the dark, Mr. Potter," she began, indicating for Harry to take a seat. "It doesn't surprise me in the slightest."

Frowning, Harry chose the small, black couch, not letting her out of his eyesight. Just because she didn't appear like a threat, didn't mean Harry was safe.

"Who are you?"

"Alice Doyle, the matron of this orphanage," she said dryly. "And yes, this is a _wizarding_ orphanage which is run by the association. Though I suppose, some people might not be happy about that."

His frown deepened. What was she trying to imply? Perhaps Scrimgeour might not know that some sort of renegade group was running orphanages, but it's not like he was a threat to the association, Harry thought. They've been at these things for centuries and the ministry hadn't done anything to stop them.

"Why am I here?" he asked. What was he supposed to do here?

Her aged features smoothed out for a moment, as she regarded him curiously. "You mean, why did they let you go, Potter?" Her voice was gentle. "Why they returned your wand?"

That, too. Harry bowed his head, not seeing the point anymore. He'd been a prisoner, and now he wasn't. He had his wand and he could finally return home without anyone trying to stop him. So what the hell had that been about? Had they manipulated him somehow, without Harry's awareness?

"Something like that," he replied after a while. Maybe it was time for the truth. "I thought I would be used by your people for some sort of grand purpose. They didn't exactly give off the impression that I would ever be free again." Harry straightened his shoulders, wanting answers. And Doyle could give him more than useless platitudes Harry had been forced to endure during his captivity. She looked like she wanted to.

"How long has it been since the fiasco at Nurmengard?" Doyle asked.

"Months." Harry's eyes narrowed.

"So you didn't return to your school, to Durmstrang?" The witch picked up her knitting things, seemingly disinterested. "Figures they would try to get you out of there."

 _Why?_ Harry wanted to ask, but her clipped remark made him hesitate. "I still could, now that I'm free again," he said. Waiting to see how she would react to that.

Her laugh was startling.

"But that's the point. Do you want to?" Doyle grinned. "You've been trained, you've been molded, my dear. Not just by us," Harry froze. What did that mean?

"Oh don't look at me like that," the witch said, amused. "I know a lot, because we've been tasked to keep an eye on you and what's going on around you."

"Great," Harry threw in sarcastically. "It doesn't mean that you control me. No one does."

But she waved him off, stretching out her legs instead. The small fireplace inside the room didn't provide much warmth, but Doyle didn't seem too bothered by it. It was strange, to see such a rundown orphanage up close and finding out that it belonged to the association who were by no means poor.

"Be that as it may," Doyle continued, looking at Harry calmly. "I would still like to invite you in order to see what the war is currently doing to wizarding Britain." And with that, she put away her stuff again and rose to her feet. Harry could refuse, could Disapparate away. But he was curious to see what the association wanted him to see. If he was supposed to be convinced of their charitable work, it wasn't exactly the best start. And besides, he already knew what Voldemort and everyone else was doing to Britain these days.

"People like Dumbledore and the Dark Lord don't care about collateral damage, unlike the association," she said, heading outside and directing her steps to one of the many rooms that housed these children. Her words confirmed Harry's suspicion. They wanted him to choose a side, to choose it with conviction by making Harry believe that everyone else was much worse than the association. Well, Harry had seen enough of everyone to know that the only side in this war he could rely on was _his own_.

"After you." And with that Harry stepped aide, as one girl ran past him, her small feet carrying her away from the others, who were playing hide and seek.

"This is Margot Bennett," Doyle said, her gentle eyes following the girl's movements. "Her father was killed by a stray dark curse during the attack at Hogsmeade a month ago. She lost her mother at the same day. One of the Aurors stumbled into the witch while she was trying to protect her child. It ended badly."

Harry's lips thinned, but he remained silent. What was he supposed to do here? Cry? Another boy took the staircase, grinning as one of the boys counted down loudly.

"This is Robin May," the matron continued, following Harry's gaze. "Pure-blood, American. Both of his parents died when the Dark Lord released a small pack of werewolves into the wild. They were tourists. We barely managed to rescue the boy."

How? How did they rescue these children? If the association operated outside the law, then _this_ was practically kidnapping, which Harry knew, was one of their specialties. They had done that with so many people. And now children? They weren't doing it out of the goodness of their hearts, surely.

"Why are you telling me this?" Harry asked promptly, making sure that his wand was safely stored inside his pocket. "I know that the government doesn't care about them. Hell, I would know that more than most other people."

Wizarding Britain only cared about Harry's location or wellbeing as long as he played by their rules, he thought morosely. And he had stopped playing that game as soon as he finalized his decision to stay in Norway. On Karkaroff's word, in fact.

Doyle nodded, smiling at another group of children who kept staring at Harry. "Yes, you could have ended up exactly like one of those kids. The association considered the option of taking you away from the Dursleys after Albus Dumbledore placed you there. It's why Alfred Clarke lived so close to you."

Well, how wonderful. Just bloody perfect. Harry's expression became closed-off. He'd been used and toyed with for so long, it was a joke at this point.

"But they decided against it, for reasons unknown to me," the old witch admitted, startling the Boy Who Lived. "But you didn't turn out bad now, did you, Harry? Can I call you Harry?"

Grimacing, he averted his eyes.

"Depends on your definition of bad. Some people would say I'm doing the wrong thing."

Lupin and Dumbledore, just to name a few. Harry sighed.

"An alliance with the Dark Lord," Doyle mused. "Yes, that's obviously not the wisest choice to make, never mind the fact that he simply humored you. He's not bound by any contracts or oaths. That man has a way of circumventing those types of enchantments." Seeing Harry's expression, the matron shook her head. "Oh, you didn't know that."

No, he had _not_ known that.

"He kept you in the dark and he let you go, because he believes that you will destroy us for him," Doyle said, making Harry's thoughts spin. "That you will take leadership into your own hands and reform the association to your liking. Giving him enough time to focus on the Order of the Phoenix."

"He doesn't see me as a threat." Harry stared ahead, suddenly feeling bereft of something.

"You're too young to make an impact. But you can use the opportunity we gave you to thrive outside the boundaries he set," the witch explained, turning fully towards Harry. "You're allowed to use _all_ of our resources, if you like."

"I'm not going to end up like Grindelwald?" Harry asked her, doubtful.

The witch shook her head, smiling pleasantly, her gaze sincere. "No. Let the Dark Lord believe that you're part of our resistance. My orders are to set you free."

Harry looked back, trying and failing to find the catch. Did they trust him that much? The point was that he could finally disappear without Voldemort's awareness. And while the Order would struggle to find Harry again, it would give him enough time to actually become stronger, become more influential and reappear when the time was right.

Thoughts spinning, Harry had a decision to make. Right here, right now. Surrounded by orphans and an old witch.

Now what?

* * *

"Lady Zabini," Voldemort said, greeting his prisoner with his usual aplomb. The witch stared at him blankly, her tattered robe no longer hiding the terrible state she was in now. Deep down, in one of the cells of Rowle's manor, she continued to pretend that his presence didn't affect her.

The man was unshakable, though. His eyes unyielding in their cruelty. He enjoyed her misery, enjoyed watching her as she continued to deteriorate while her son was still at Hogwarts, none the wiser.

Cecilia bowed her head, wishing for one moment that she could look at Blaise again, could touch him and reassure her only son that everything would be alright. That this war wouldn't touch them.

What a failure it had been.

But there was nothing to be ashamed of, really. Nothing she could regret after her small revolt against the Dark Lord and his cult of miserable followers. To even suggest that a halfblood like Tom Riddle was fit to lead the Dark was a travesty in itself. All of them, the Malfoys, the Lestrange family. Hypocrites.

Potter had done Britain a service to expose the Dark Lord's family background. It wouldn't go unpunished of course, but it had led Cecilia to this decision. And she would resist.

Propping her thin arms up on her legs, Cecilia observed the man closely. He stood tall, the flickering light of the basement not detracting from the man's ability to make his presence known to everyone. She had admired him, at some point in her life. The bitter realization hit her unexpectedly.

They had no leader. No one to defend their cause.

The Malfoys and the Lestrange family members, and so many others. They were hopeless to follow a halfblood wizard like him to their deaths.

"Don't be shy now," Voldemort began, tilting his head a bit. "Your futile rebellion used to be louder."

"I don't have much to say to you. Only this, maybe." Cecilia looked away. "Your followers will continue to doubt you, your abilities, your heritage, even your sanity," she murmured, proud. "What I've done...no, what Potter has done was a blessing to the Dark."

If her words angered the man, the Dark Lord didn't show it. He didn't even blink.

Voldemort hummed, considering. "Everyone can be replaced. What you did, my lady, was akin to a death sentence for a small opposition I have targeted since before the boy spilled his secrets."

"Your secrets you mean," she replied, pointedly. "Don't pretend that this hasn't weakened you." Cecilia grinned, her split lips tasting of blood. "Your reputation carries the war, _Riddle_. But now it's only carried by the amount of fear you inspire in your own cult," she hissed. "Not all of us Dark wizards are that spineless."

"And yet here you are," the Dark Lord replied dryly, his magic acting up, tainting the very air she breathed with its power. Merlin, why had it turned out like this? Despair gripped her heart for a moment, not letting go. The war could have turned out differently, with someone else at the top. Someone who was just as powerful, perhaps. But not nearly as insane as Tom Riddle.

"What do you want to do from now on?" she asked quietly, looking at the handsome wizard. "What happens when more and more families decide to turn their backs on you? What happens when they find someone more worthy to follow?"

Someone like...

She didn't dare to think about it. But the thought must have been evident, her expression not hiding the name everyone kept in the back of their minds in this war.

_Potter._

Abruptly, Voldemort began to laugh, the tone sending chills down her spine. Other prisoners began to whimper, but he kept his attention on her, forcing Cecilia to resist, to endure his disdain, his amusement. His smile was twisted, sharp. He seemed to find the thought of Harry Potter becoming a leader of the Dark utterly absurd, and normally Cecilia wouldn't blame the man. She'd laughed all those rumors off in the past, dismissing the people who kept asking her what would happen in the future if the Dark Lord never returned. That had been shot down quickly, but the rumors never subsided.

"You know he's too young, Lady Zabini," Riddle said eventually, smoothly. "Even if Dumbledore himself begins to train the boy for years on end, it will be useless."

"So you want your war now?" she asked, coming to the realization quickly. " You want to kill Albus Dumbledore."

But the wizard merely hummed again, turning around to inspect the prisoner in the cell next to hers. "Be thankful that you won't ever find out what I intend to do with the wizarding world. Your narrow-minded worldview wouldn't be able to rationalize it."

And with that, Voldemort left, taking his own magic back with him and making it easier for her to breathe in the dank, cold space of her cell.

What did the Dark Lord mean? And what did it mean for the safety of her son?

She bit her lips, the throbbing sensation of the pain clearing her thoughts at once.

* * *

In the end, Harry found the decision to leave it all behind easier. Returning to Potter manor was a bliss and so was the company of his ancestors. Augusta Potter had almost cried upon seeing Harry again. Not to mention his house-elves.

And even Hedwig was currently perched on the windowsill, her accusing eyes not daring to leave Harry's form until he was safely back inside his bedroom. He'd missed her terribly.

It was with a heavy heart that he fell asleep, so tired of the journey and the constant hiding he had to endure. There had been Aurors stationed near the hidden manor and evading them took most of Harry's stealth away, leaving him drained of both magic and mental strength.

The only difference in this situation was that he had no Tom Riddle to rely on anymore. No Horcrux to spy on his thoughts, his skills and his future plans. That should have relieved Harry beyond anything else.

But the echo of something familiar kept itself logged inside Harry's heart. He could drown in it, lose himself to voices and memories. He could surrender to something cold and lifeless and all of it would have been for nothing. The Dementor's Kiss kept him up at night.

And if that didn't, then Voldemort's hissing certainly did.

Now, Harry was too tired to resit it anymore, falling easily into his nightmares as he'd done before the Nurmengard incident.

His mental landscape surrounded Harry, grey and white sliding into each other and creating some sort of image that reminded Harry of a train station. Why it looked like that, Harry couldn't tell. But now he was back again, walking a small pathway and letting shadows and figures dance around his form, disappearing and reappearing at random.

His heart thudded painfully inside Harry's chest, but the sensation didn't resemble the pain of reality. Heavy-lidded, he watched as the train station fell away to something unfamiliar, a richly decorated sitting room, with snakes coiling around each other near the fireplace, basking in the warmth of it, in the company of a man who was currently sitting in front of Harry, looking amused.

It was Voldemort. The one of the real world. Not the Horcrux that had taken a different form, before leaving the mortal plane.

"Decided to join me, finally?" the wizard asked, leaning back.

Harry stilled, not daring to come closer to this phantom. "You're not here." Voldemort was just a figment of Harry's imagination. "Not truly. I'm dreaming..."

But the monster only continued to smile, staring up at Harry who was still standing in front of him like a statue. "I'm afraid you're not a lucid dreamer. What is happening to you is happening to both of us."

"I destroyed..."

"My Horcrux?" Voldemort's mouth curved up even more. And why would he find that amusing? Harry thought alarmed. The man should be furious.

"Not quite," the Dark Lord explained after a while, reveling in Harry's fear. "You merely trapped my soul piece in a world beyond _your_ reach. For now." He slowly began to move, leaving his seat to approach the Boy-Who-Lived. "Such a foolish thing to do, Harry. Or should I call you my Horcrux?"

"I'm not your fucking soul," Harry snarled, backing away from the man. "I'm done with you and your games."

"Oh, but we are just getting started, aren't we?" Voldemort crossed his arms. "I must say Dumbledore almost managed to fool the both of us, but we have other people to thank for that new development."

Harry looked around him, searching for a way out of this. He should wake up. This was his nightmare, his mind. He needed to wake up now. "The association?" he stalled. "You'll just kill them all anyway."

"Indeed, but none of that now," the Dark Lord continued to walk forward until there was no space left between them, nothing Harry could defend himself with. "My point is that you still _belong to me_. Which means you will return to me as soon as possible. And when that happens..."

"Fuck you!" Harry stared up at the man, expression fierce. He would not cower before his parents' killer. "I won't be used by you just because your sick mind comes up with twisted ways to claim ownership over a person."

"Harry." Voldemort bent down suddenly, invading Harry's personal space. They were breathing the same air now, in this dream-like world, crimson eyes flashing with satisfaction upon seeing Harry's shock.

"You'll never be free again. You'll never leave my side again."

Pale hands reached forward, tipping Harry's chin up. Why?

Why?

Harry wanted to defend himself against that man. But no magic rose inside him, only heat. Only embarrassment.

What was Voldemort doing to him? Those long fingers caressed his skin, curling more possessively around Harry's head, until his touch began to trace the outer shell of Harry's ear, until another hand tugged at black locks insistently, messing with his hair, playing with the strands.

Harry closed his eyes desperately, denying what was happening, wishing with all his might that Voldemort would just disappear.

And yet, for the first time maybe...

Harry's lips parted and he snapped his eyes open again. Voldemort's eyes widened at that, seeing something in Harry's expression that he must have never expected.

The world around them faded away.


End file.
